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When I was little and I missed my dad, when he was away being a Navy Seal, or when he went on business trips after he left the Navy, I would put on one of his sweatshirts. They were so big on me they would go down to my knees at least. I would curl up on the couch, draw my knees up to my chest and dig my face into the fabric because it smelled like him and that was comforting.

I don’t do that often anymore.

Now I am wearing my boyfriend’s shirts. I am wearing one right now. It has Spider-Man on it, and all but two of the buttons are missing. But it smells like his cologne, and that makes up for the fact that the sleeve is coming away from the rest of the shirt and there is a bleach stain on the bottom. I love it anyway. Maybe because he loves it.

I’m not sure what is so comforting about wearing my loved-one’s clothing, particularly my boyfriend‘s. Maybe it is the sense of having him wrapped around me. I heard once that smell is the strongest sense linked to memory, so maybe it is because it smells like him.

I know I am not the only one. I know other girls steal their boyfriend’s clothing. There is a line in one of John Mayer’s songs that goes “She steals my clothes to wear to work, I know, her hairs are on my shirts.”

I guess we just like to be wrapped up in the ones we love.

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