Ripped Jeans and Broken Promises

Scuffed ends and trailing hems,
White lines where the material begins to separate,
Ripped knees and fading color,
Pockets filled with empty promises,
A movie ticket, some change, and a packet of spearmint gum,
A black heart inked on the denim,
So much darker than the pale navy blue.
I pull them on,
Jumping up and pulling as they stick
like glue,
Lying on my bed and sucking in my stomach,
But the zipper isn't working anymore.
And the button is hanging on by a single loose thread.
But I will not throw them away because they're broken,
My old blue jeans I bought when I was fifteen,
They weren't meant to last forever.
But I had started to believe they would.
I'm not ready to let them go just yet.