She watched it unravel, stitch by careful stitch until there was nothing left but a tangled mess. It must never have been worked well; The fabric cheap. It never meant anything to her anyway, just a tawdry reminder of the mistakes of youth. She thought it was ugly now anyway. It had meant everything to her at one time though. She was proud to wear it, like a badge of honor and beauty. Over time however, the threads began to wear thin, the once vivid colors dulled and the designs morphed. It didn't look anything like it used to when it was new. So she put it back in her closet, never giving it a second thought. It wasn't cold anymore anyway, when would she need it? She danced that summer and spring in the sun, never caring to give thought to the precious gift she had tucked away at that first sign of sun. When the days cooled, and the nights were lonely, she remembered it. It used to keep her so warm at night. Tucked away under piles of books and clothes, she found what was left. A molded rag of sorts, misshapen and discolored, full of holes and tears from time and pests. She knew she should've taken care of it; it was all she had left from that place in her life, when things were warm. If she had only tended it once in a while, mended the tears as they appeared, it might've still been workable. Tears dripped down her face as she picked up a corner and watched it unravel. She would be cold this time.