I am made out of string I suppose.

Wrapped so loosely around my being.

Frayed far sooner than I expected.

The rest intact wound so so tightly.

Moving sometimes feels like setting my own guillotine.

It only takes a moment to snap and fall apart.

***

I have to keep putting myself back together I suppose.

Checking for split ends in places I never knew to look.

I always have thread and needle somewhere.

Hidden inside my favorite book and underneath a box of loved chocolate.

In easy to reach and convenient places.

I just have to keep looking.

***

I just fall apart easier than other people I suppose.

Maybe the sewing machine fell asleep while making me.

Or maybe my thread was designed to be weaker than others.

I just have to pick up the pieces more often.

Praying that the patch lasts a little bit longer this time.

Thank God I never seem to run out of thread.