Pocket Panties

I am sorting a packing, in between sorting and editing wedding photos.

It’s kinda the same thing.

What is a treasure, what needs tweaking, what stays what goes.

Everything in folders or boxes labeled various things.

I have an excessive amount of clothes.

When I need to find my Zen it comes to me quickly in thrift stores, touching things people used to love. I can’t bear to leave them behind. I am getting better. I used to own 17 white tank tops, back in the Milton days of the walk in closet. It was glorious. I had never been out of a relationship before and so I had all my money and all my closet to myself.

I went a little crazy and only ever wore a quarter of it.

Then I once said it out loud, this confession of the 17 white tank tops, and it felt kinda gross. Not something to be proud of at all.

So I set about purging. I haven’t stopped since.

I am getting better at letting go, and not hoarding. Quality over quantity.

Not just with clothes, with people too.

I had my cards read a week ago.

First was sacrifice.

Done and done, well almost.

The minute I leave my girl’s house early one February morning, kiss my puppers goodbye for 6 months and start the journey east, leaving all of my people, my safety nets and 90% of my things behind it will be complete.

Then comes love.

Well then comes 3 straight days of driving, one night asleep on a boat, one more day driving, 2 days of painting and unpacking, then 6 straight days of work.

And at some point, love.

It’s in the cards.

I am leaving love behind as well, and it’s alright.

There are 2 kinds of things I pick up at thrift stores. My precious, the ones that elicit butterflies in my belly because I am so happy to have finally found them and I cannot wait to wear them. And the things I pick up that find their way to others, because they are perfect for them.

I am not always a keeper, just a waystation sometimes it seems.

I love the same way. I can enjoy and adore things that I know are not mine to keep. I can hold them safe until they find their way home.

It is easier when things get tied up in neat little packages of completion. The regret is lessened.

And we were almost there.

Until Giant’s new girl tried to make him a baby daddy way too fast and he had to leave. Leaving him available once again.

The circle must be closed. Probably at the diner with the circus mural one cold morning before I go.

But what of these pocket panties?

Once upon an October, when Giant had expressed interest in his hot neighbor we had an inside joke wherein if she caught me leaving the house I could be explained away by being just a friend, a gay one at that. I dressed accordingly with more than a splash of plaid.

She did catch me one night. I was walking to my car and she was walking her dog. This is how I knew what she looked like. Pretty little thing. Prisoner of her hormones, but pretty nonetheless.

It’s been warm and he has come back to me. And in my sorting packing and purging I found my buffalo checked spring jacket, last time I wore it things were so much different and yet kinda the same. With panties in the pocket. I was looking for those.

Just as I am a keeper and a waystation for wayward things. Sometimes things and people find their way back to me. Sometimes they take the long way around, like panties in a pocket, waiting for a warm enough day to wear that jacket.

I am reminded of the idea that if you really love something you should let it go. Let it find its way back.

The ex of that Swain boy messaged yesterday, telling me they were trying to work things out and to leave him be.

I acquiesced. Who am I to argue? She’s just a little girl full of spite. I let her win this one.

A large part of me doesn’t believe her.

Even if it is true, I am not worried.

I know what he is and I know it will be alright. I will find him again one warm night and I won’t lose him again.