I still think it’s you every time I see a guy in a camo ball cap. I still want it to be.
I want to catch a glimpse of those bright green eyes under that brim and that smirk that, if I caught on the right day, was framed with the perfect amount of stubble I liked.
Amid the camouflage, the cap carried stains from long hours of work. And although you resented having to work, you wore the stains proudly, along with the calluses on your hands.
And just like your hat, over time, you and I began to assume stains. We weren’t in that honeymoon condition anymore. Our relationship began to feel like work, something you would come to resent. And over time your work ethic diminished.
So you gave me my own camo cap as a memento of us.
It was like we were over and I stopped at the gift store on the way out. And although we’ve called it quits, I hope that you refuse to wipe me away, just like the stains on your cap. I hope I’ve left my mark on you.