The jumper

You left your jumper at my place. It lay by my bed, crumpled, pale pink. It smelt of the stupid detergent you used because of your stupid skin with it's stupid sensitivities. I hated it. I threw it away. I wanted to do more, I wanted to burn it. I wanted to contact a priest. Father, I beg, exorcise it. Exorcise your stupid jumper. It's gone now that jumper and so are you. I felt like I was so close to something but you weren't even close; we weren't in the same room. We were in different houses. I swore I won't let it happen again. It will.