Sweater Weather's Over

   

   You're like that old sweater at the back of my closet. You know, the type that's all fuzzy and warm when I first buy it. Trying it on in the store is like a dream. Buying it is exciting and I look forward to wearing it in the fall. Holding a mug of tea, watching the leaves turn brown.

     I wear it lots. It goes with everything. My jeans, my leggings, every pair of shoes I own. It sees the rain, the sun, the windy, everything. And I wonder how a sweater could ever be so perfect.

     But then one day, it comes out of the wash and as I put it on, it scratches my arm. Not a lot, but enough that I'm aware of it. Two washes later and I can't wear it without wearing a shirt underneath. And I realize just how blistering hot it is. The weather gets colder and I begin to wonder just what I saw in that sweater.

     Soon you're not even in my set of drawers. No, you've been banished to the closet and occasionally, whilst digging for something, I'll see you and put you on. Just for a little while. And I remember why it was I put you in the back of my closet in the first place. You've got a hole in your sleeve. I'm pretty sure that blotch is actually a stain. And you're so itchy and scratchy that you poke through every shirt I wear you with.

     Now you just sit there. I know I should probably get rid of you. You've been in the back for ages and you're doing nothing but collecting dust. But sometimes, I miss the comfort and the warmth and I long for the days when you didn't scratch my arms, or make me overheat, or rip so easily.

     And one day, I decide that I am tired of you taking up room in my closet. So sick of it that I decide you have to go. The sun is shining, the flowers are beginning to sprout and all you do is remind me of the cold winter. So I take a pair of scissors and go out to the backyard and cut you up until you are nothing but little strings.

     Birds and squirrels collect the pieces. Some get carried away in the wind and every once in a while when I take a walk, I can see bits of your string in the nests in the trees. And it makes me smile. Just a little. The sort of smile that just has a little hint of sadness. But just a bit. After all, I think to myself, it was time for the sweater to go.