It was made to be worn close —
tightened, straightened,
pulled into place before walking out the door.

Not for warmth.
Not for necessity.
But for the quiet code of presentation.
Of showing up. Holding form.

Was it worn to work?
A wedding? A waiting room?
We’ll never know.
But its creases remember.

There’s an elegance in its restraint —
a loop, a fold,
the same motion repeated
by different hands, different mornings.

Now, it no longer performs.
It simply is.
Resting. Soft. Slightly undone.

Like many things once tied with intention,
it speaks not of the day itself —
but of the effort it took
to show up for it.