This morning, I wore a purple bathrobe. It is not a new bathrobe. I’ve had it since college. It is old and worn bathrobe. It wasn’t even originally my bathrobe. It was the bathrobe of this girl who lived on my college dormitory floor.

I was infatuated with this girl. But she liked somebody else. Just like an old song. Despite it all, we became platonic “friends,” although I kept on wishing for it to be otherwise.
She owned two matching bathrobes, one green and one purple. She let me wear the purple bathrobe. She wore the green bathrobe. Sometimes we would wear our matching bathrobes when we would walk over to our co-ed, but individual, shower stalls. We would sing while showering.

When we graduated, she told me I could keep the purple bathrobe.

For another year, I thought of her whenever I wore the bathrobe. Time passed, and I thought about her less and less. We completely lost touch, as happens after college.

I kept the bathrobe. Whenever I moved, I moved it with me. Today, I keep it in the bedroom closet. Even Sophia sometimes wears the purple bathrobe. Sophia has never heard the story of the girl and the purple bathrobe… until now.

I don’t wear the bathrobe very frequently, but I wore it today, because it was cold.

I like my purple bathrobe. It doesn’t remind me of the girl anymore. It does remind me of times gone by.

So, I keep it.