He handed me threads, and I held them.
Maybe I wanted to believe
they\'ll make something whole,
more than I wanted to ask
why some pieces were missing.
He told me they tied the knots,
But it had already fallen apart,
And somehow, I ended up threading
Through the gaps that were never fixed.
The same lines kept showing up.
Threads have a way of tracing what we’d rather forget.
I pulled too hard, and I slipped,
Still tangled in the ends we never tied.
Then he passed his loose ends,
into someone else\'s hands.
Just like before.
Just like after.