Those old dresses…
what you once wore and how you wore them, how you fit into things, the way they felt. There was the comfortable one and the one you had to wear on certain, special occasions. Now, just familiar strangers. 
That old blouse that used to be your favorite, cream colored but had that small speck, a stain you hid under a button, a brooch, or a sweater. If it was noticed, you had a few stories prepared. You had to have reasons ready.
There’s the old coat with that inner lining you replaced, hemmed twice, but it kept fraying. It had such raw edges like a fringe. If the weather warmed, you had to carry it on your arm and it became a small burden. On those days, you asked yourself why you brought it in the first place. It was like two dresses sewn together when you only paid for one.
On the bottom shelf of the old wardrobe, there's a newspaper lining. It's torn and faded, the type nearly gone. Within its mess of creases, folds, and holes you barely make out a number followed by the words killed in action. As you decide which clothes to keep and which ones to discard, you think about lining the bottom shelf with something different, something without ink…
this time.