To My Dearest Left Glove,
I can’t even begin to express my sorrow at losing you last night. I knew immediately, as the subway doors closed behind me and the train began chugging away, that you were gone forever. It was awful and I still miss your comfort against the wind that is ripping through Brooklyn at the moment.
I want you to know I’ll never forget our times together. You were my first left glove in New York, a last minute purchase at Big 5 Sports in Valencia right before I moved to the city. We’ve seen a lot together: That homeless man yelling on the subway, my personal salads at Google, the inside of my pursue, the snow pelting down as we walked home from Target. And I won’t lie, I thought we would share so many more beautiful moments: Long walks in Central Park, blushing at the handsome men on the subway, flipping off the cabs that nearly run us over, a visit to the Black Sheep pub, and at the end of it all, I planned to give you a proper send off for a long hibernation with my snow jacket under my bed.
My greatest hope is that you’re continuing the New York adventure without me. I’ll try to do the same, but on days like today, when I feel like my fingers are going to fall off and burn from the inside out, I miss you the most.
I believe Hamlet best captured my feelings in this moment:
Good night sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
R.I.P. left glove, I will never love another quite like I did you.