This is a love story.

It all began sophomore year. Just a wide eyed girl, going through life, not a care in the world, stumbled upon a black cardigan.

Spoiler alert: That girl is me.

To anyone else, it was just a normal sweater. But not to her. The big black buttons and the perfect arm length were unlike any other cardigan she had ever known. It tied every outfit together, it could dress up any outfit as well as dress one down. One rarely saw this girl without her favorite cardigan. They were inseparable. And like with any other true love, the girl couldn't quite explain what she loved most about the sweater, but she knew that she couldn't imagine her life without it.

That is until I lost it (Yes I'm switching to first person, deal with it).

I don't really remember when exactly it was lost lost. Like, forever lost. It was sort of gradual thing. It would get lost for a while then I'd find it. Oh what a joyous reunion we would have. However, these reunions were always short lived, for sooner rather than later it would be thrust into the cavernous abyss that was my closet growing up.

Also, Emily distinctly lied to me for an entire quarter last year while it was in her closet/on her body. I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust again.

But in all honesty, my relationship with this cardigan is the kind that's portrayed in almost every romantic comedy. We met. There was an instant connection. We were soon inseparable. There would be little times of separation and angst but eventually we would find each other again. I thought it would always be that way.

But life is not a romantic comedy. And sometimes the truest love is the one that's lost.

It seriously is no where to be found. It's not in my apartment, it's not in any closet at home, I've searched Emily's house so I know she's not lying to me this time. I honestly have no idea where it could possibly be. I've resigned myself to the fact that it has probably been thrown away. There are two options. 1) malicious intent 2)accident. (The malicious intent theory is more hard core, but my cardigan never had any enemies that I was aware of.)

I'm going to have to get over it, I know, but it's hard: Knowing that I'll never again feel those same soft fibers against my skin. Never again thread those almost comically large buttons through their corresponding holes. Never again be able to wear a t-shirt in January, or buy a shirt without trying it on, because I know that my cardigan makes everything look awesome. But I'm strong.

I have faith that there is another cardigan out there for me. Maybe not the same as my first, but maybe better for me. Maybe I should stop comparing every cardigan I see to that one, just to see if that would make it any easier to find one. Maybe I should just settle for a nice cardigan that doesn't fit me as well, but maybe has some nice pockets. I could be happy with that, right?

Or maybe I should always remember that cardigan, and even if it never comes back to me, I'll know what its like to have an all purpose, goes with everything, amazing cardigan that makes me feel fantastic. Because that's what every girl deserves.

P.S. I'm 87% sure that the songs "Someone Like You" and "The One That Got Away" were written about my cardigan.