I have this scarf

Which doesn't mean too much, if you know me. I have many scarves. Dozens, with no exaggeration.  They are the one fashion item that I can't seem to let go.  I have them in varying lengths, all shades of colour (except yellow. My brown/yellow/pink Filipino skin never could hold up to that colour), differing patterns; infinity scarves and regular scarves; knit and wool and silk; warm and positively deathly hot and fashionable.

But there's this one scarf I have.

It's a knit infinity scarf, completely black, that loops snugly around my neck. It's kind of perfect, in a weird way - dark colours, fashionable enough to wear in all seasons, looped high enough on my neck to be warm in winter and low enough to allow a breeze on cool beach days.  It's a scarf I would never pick up because it's so similar to all the others I own, it'd be one where I can convince myself "No, I don't need this when I have X scarf," but I'll glance back at it as I walk away.

That's if I ever bothered to pick it up, anyway. It's unassuming and a bit plain and thousands of other scarves would probably be considered and shuffled before it was even noticed sitting folded in the rack or hanging from the hooks.

You gave me this scarf.  This absolutely nondescript, barely-noticeble scarf.  I lost it, for a few months. I couldn't find it, and I had no idea how long it had been missing before I realized it, because it's just that small of a thing to me. My mom found it eventually, it'd been hung up on my brother's coat rack, and even though it was sitting, plain as day in front of all of us, no one ever saw it for months.

It was a Christmas present, one I didn't even realize you were going to give me. I walked in the door one day, and it was sitting at my station, hidden in a bright box. I remember being surprised, and flattered, and a bit scared, to be honest. I didn't realize that we'd progressed that far.

You gave me this scarf, and I watched your face as I pried the top off this box and how it was so eager and you were so happy with your choice. You said you saw it and immediately knew it was for me, that you knew it was going to be given to me, no matter the price or consequence.  I remember your smile in return to my smile, when I said it was oddly perfect, that you were so pleased and puffed up on some weird post-gift-giving high the entire rest of the day.  I remember vaguely a few days later you were still proud of getting a gift so good for me.

I remember your face, too, when I wore it a few months later. You recognized it, and it was like this light went on behind your eyes that it was still in my life, that it was something I actually...chose.  I remember the satisfaction in your eyes, and I remember being terrified at what it all meant. You reached over to touch it lightly with your fingertips, and it felt like you were touching something much deeper.

You gave me that scarf.

I wore it today.

And today, you are no longer in my life.

It's a weird thing, to see the scarf. Even now, around my neck, it kind of hurts to see that this tiny item that I'd pass up is one of the few things remaining of you to me. It still kind of smells like you, which is probably more in my head, but does that even matter now?  It's you, and it's around me, and I know that you will not be.

Choosing to wear it this morning was a lot more personal and difficult than I thought it would be. Honestly, I haven't thought about it in awhile. It's just because I'm wearing an odd print today and it's kind of cold this evening and needed something that would be functional but not ruin everything, too. And when this came in my head, it was like a movie: I took two steps towards my room and paused, bit my lip as I thought about wearing it.

It shouldn't be this difficult.

But it is, and I understand why.

I have this scarf, and it's a little bit me of me with a little bit of you.

And it breaks my heart just a little bit to see it, because it's the only thing I have left aside from some smiling memories and hidden pictures in my hard drive that really shows us together.  It breaks my heart just a little.

But still, I wear it.