In the depths of my closet, tales unfold,
Of threads that have aged, of stories untold.
Each fabric a memory, each stitch a mark,
Whispering secrets in the quiet and dark.

The tattered jeans with a rebellious past,
And the summer dress that made me stand fast.
A woolen sweater, warm in the cold,
Holding me close, as dreams were retold.

Silk scarves that danced in the breeze,
And the leather jacket, rugged with ease.
Each garment a chapter, in life’s grand book,
If only we took a moment to look.

So here I stand, amid garments and seams,
Listening to whispers, like echoes of dreams.
For clothes are not mere fabrics we wear,
But fragments of life, woven with care.