August 26, 2014


You are part of me, I picked at the cotton thread on the piece of fabric and I knew this was from where I came; you are part of me, I, a little red thread hanging loose and waving in the breeze; I see you, fabric of sturdy threads, and I hanging loose and ready to fall, to leave the fold in your side, to take off and fly away on the breeze of an angel, never to look back; I tell myself, never look back, but I look back and see you, my fabric, and I, still a part of your fold.

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