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I’m a circular object, who is the color of snow. I come from a little town in Wyoming. I use to live on an old woman’s jacket. The jacket that I belonged to had a flower design, and so do I. The old woman’s fingers would run across my ruff surface, that has indents and bumps. One cold morning the woman woke up very early and pulled me through my slit in the jacket, she was going to Pennsylvania to visit her son. My string started to loosen as we traveled. On the train ride I began to fall, fall and hit the dirty floor, it stained my perfect snow coloring now I look like sand. As the train halted and people were walking right by me, their feet made the outside of my flower smoother, not as rough. I looked like a sand colored flower upon my side because I couldn’t lay flat. I can still remember the old woman and her pulling me on each morning to keep her jacket upon her body, and her old fingers running across my bumpy top and my flowered curves around the edges. I miss the sweater I once belonged to.