Out of sync

Though I've never seen him wear it himself, I'm quite certain it should be retired from his wardrobe. It might be better suited to cinch dad jeans for a trip to the grocery store.

"I never said you could have it," he laughs.

I peer back at him, corrected.
For an instant I am hurt. I consider handing it back to him.

Instead, he watches while I continue to thread the worn leather around the waist of my cargo skinnies. Its silver plated buckle is tarnished and some of the stitching is frayed. There are palpable grooves just past the most frequently used notches. Of a recent and awkward vintage and with no monetary value, I think it suits me.

I smile and shake my head at him. He leans down to kiss me.

Resting on my hips, the belt is unexpected. Curious. Not trendy, but interesting. Unlike those marketed alongside brand new "boyfriend jeans" and boxy, oversize sweaters. But I wonder if the comfort in this belt, my boyfriend's belt, is now gone.

Later, as I get ready for bed, I carefully spiral it around my hand and slip it into his overnight bag while he brushes his teeth.

After all,
it doesn't belong


to me.