Threads

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.