An Anonymous Love Letter. To Jeans.


An anonymous love letter to a blue-hued valentine.


You. Oh, you. Now, before you go getting all concerned about me writing to an inanimate object, let me stop you: We have a bond that’s way deeper than all that “five senses” stuff. You and I both know it’s something like magic. Everyone else might simply call it “love”—but that just doesn’t capture it. It’s gush-to-my-friends, the-only-one-for-me, literally true-blue love.

On even the worst days, you instantly make me feel like a living superlative: the sexiest, smartest, coolest—the whatever-it-is-I-need-to-be. But here’s the real reason I’m writing: I think we need to take a break. Just for a day! Just while you’re in the laundry. I can’t bear to think about it—what will I wear tonight? Your spot on the chair next to my bed will be waiting, empty, for your return. Parting has never been such sweet sorrow. And if that’s not true love, well, I don’t want to know what is.

See you tomorrow.

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