"It's such an ugly sweater." I murmur to my reflection. It's tight and has this ugly pattern on the back. The sentiment is shared by a lot of people. They've let their opinion be known time and time again after all. I didn't take too much offense, I agree. But I wear it each week, no matter the weather, no matter the comment. I couldn't care less.

My vision blurs, my reflection on the mirror becomes muddy as I stare too long, my mind going blank along with it. I subconsciously play with the collar for a moment before I shake myself out of my stupor.

'I'm gonna be late.'

With that, I leave the mirror, grab my bag and head out.

I arrive at school, the day the same as any. I open my locker when a familiar voice rings out, "That sweater again? I ought to burn it one day."

I turn my head towards my friend, rolling my eyes, not bothered at all, "Will you just leave it be?"

"Ugh-Yeah, I guess I should get used to it. You've been wearing the damn thing for over a year."

I sigh as I feel as though the conversation hasn't ended yet.

"I can buy you one. You know how my taste in clothes are." She quipped after a moment, giving me a half toothy grin.

"You've already bought me two. And for that, I'm thankful and I can buy my own clothes if I want to, Sher." I roll my eyes as I close the locker door. "I simply don't want to."

"And you've yet to tell me why so I'm gonna keep pestering you about it."

That's when my mind began to walk towards dark territories. Sher’s words fade into the background, and suddenly, I’m not in the hallway anymore. The scent of smoke lingers—not real, but in memory. I blink, and the fire is there again, just like it was that night.

The fire from last year. Everyone forgot about it too quick. Or at least to the people who are affected by it. Except for me. It hurts when the last connection you have of a person is through an item. An item that was given to you as a gift and initially didn't want and you voiced as much. But after a number of 'pleases' and 'come ons', you wear it just to get them to let the insistence go, remembering how they dressed you as a child and maybe want another opportunity to do so when they saw that clothing.

And then you come home to fire. Everything inside, gone. Everything that mattered. All that's left is the item you wore on your back that day.

It hurts. Because you hold onto it too tight, and hard, not letting go. You find their presence in this item, makes you feel that you aren't alone. But then people would ask about it and then you're reminded of what you lost.

I guess Sher would understand if I told her. But then again, I don't know how to. I guess if she saw me that day and complained to her how my mom forced me to wear this ugly sweater and told her the day after that she's gone, maybe she'll understand...Or maybe not. Maybe instead of being greeted by teasing, she would greet me with pity instead and I'd rather not have that.

"Mean that much to you?" She asked suddenly apropos to nothing but it was enough to snap me out of my thoughts. I sigh as I begin to walk towards the room of my first period. "It's almost seven thirty, Sher. Better get going."

She yelps after processing what I just said before glancing at her wristwatch. "Shit! I gotta go. See you at lunch!" And up the stairs she goes to her own class.

I snicker before continuing to walk. Someday, I guess, if she's willing to listen. Until then, I’ll keep wearing this ugly sweater—because it’s the only piece of her I have left.