<\/p>\n
I found the top while thrifting. Everything else had been a bust, and my hands had started to feel like there was a slight film on them from touching endless racks of clothing. Even though I\u2019m a self-proclaimed germaphobe, the mysterious stains I grazed seemed bearable after finding it<\/em>, a quarter sleeve top in a rich and vivid shade of flamingo pink. I remember feeling as though I was transcending the liminal space that is The Salvation Army. Time stopped. It was just me and my new top against the world.<\/p>\n I decided to wear the blouse \u2014 which, at this point, I was spiritually connected to \u2014 on a random Tuesday. I was sitting in my English class, wearing my new top, and my hair was styled with little claw clips. After sharing my thoughts on the small group activity, which was a bust, my professor stopped to say something. She began complimenting me on the lovely shade of pink I was wearing. The room, normally frigid, suddenly felt inviting, like the warmth usually reserved for home-baked cookies. I was convinced that the universe was applauding me by sending someone to appreciate the beauty that was this top. This was all that consumed my thoughts for the rest of class and, justifiably, for the rest of the day.\u00a0<\/p>\n I decided I would wear that very same top about a week later for a random club meeting, not because I needed<\/em> another validating compliment, but because I genuinely loved the piece. Though, a compliment also would have been nice \u2014 even a silent little gesture from a friend would have sufficed. <\/p>\n Yet, I got absolutely nothing. It felt like whatever cosmic forces were out there had decided the top was only deserving of one positive remark. Would I ever feel that warmth of imaginary baked goods again? And, more importantly, had my compliments expired, the way strawberries seem to quietly wilt just hours after buying them? Or was this a fate exclusively reserved to my wardrobe?<\/p>\n