The red t-shirt That shabby old t-shirt Lays awkwardly over the chair's nape. The red you always loved is Fading a little, everyday. The dark smudge which used To be your favourite chutney Now sits unmistakably dull On the front near the right sleeve. I wonder if you still like the chutney Enough to lick it off the t-shirt Or if you spike it with extra spice Whenever you are down. It's worn out collar Shows every attempt you made Of tearing it, or when you tried To pull me close, closer to your Heavy breath. The t-shirt that is now permanently Crumpled on both sides because Of all the times you held it In your fist tight and swayed As you helped yourself from falling Whenever you laughed hard With your perfect laugh On my silliest of jokes. What strikes me the most is That thread which is half on the floor Running over itself and buried under The t-shirt as it falls off the chair. The thread that got loose when I wore it last, when I was with you That thread you kept pulling on Bundling it around your finger Just the way you did with your hair I remember the wetness of our eyes; The coldness of the couch, The emptiness of our lives, The silence of the universe. That thread kept coming out And with it, the t-shirt With every tug, I resisted, Resisted to save that t-shirt I kept trying to unravel you When I tried to unravel The thread from your finger You kept your grip, and I never let go Until it snapped. That thread Snapped at last and Just like that, with all your strength, Like the last gasp of oxygen The person takes before drowning; Made the t-shirt obsolete