It’s first week, gone are the days of clubbing in dresses. As the rain starts, I look over to the hook on my door – there’s not enough wardrobe space for my coats – and reach for my puffer. So warm, so reliable, what would I do without you? Sadly, I had to learn soon after. All alone on a cold October night I found myself traipsing back to college in nothing but an urban crop top. But alas, I’m not alone, take a read of this collection of love letters to lost items…
To the coat lost forever in the bridge cloak room. You were with me through thick and thin; every hungover trip to Najars, freezing in the club queue, covered in smoking area ash. You protected my ID, my money, my fob. Forever grateful for your service, come back to me.
My lovely, lovely boots. How you shone in the Atik light. Please don’t take it personally, when your heel broke, I simply didn’t have enough strength to carry you home, the bin was the most humane option. I will always think of you as I walk down Cornmarket Street. Gone but never forgotten.
To my dearest pair of white jeans, I am so sorry for the trauma you went through in Varsity Club. I never meant for the pools of vomit and spilt Jager Bombs to assault you as I ate dirt after falling over the step in the middle of the dance floor. The years we spent together were fond, but no amount of vanish will ever fix these scars. I bid you the most tender of goodbyes.
In memoriam: the masses of rings lost to the Wetherspoons bathroom. You made my hands look shiny and slender under the gorgeous fluorescent lights of the bar, and you made the sink look like the floor of the Primark jewellery section as I washed my hands. Although our love was strong, my relationship with tequila was stronger, and so you were left, a scattering of painted plastic, to line the pockets of the overnight cleaners. Farewell.