We had casted on one evening,
The beginning slip knot
With a tail trailing behind,
Of some color neither of us could see,
Of some length we couldn’t determine.
Slowly but surely, we made
Awkward, new stitches,
Sometimes pausing,
Sometimes constant.
The yarn shimmered rainbow,
Neverending,
Not quite perfect, but it felt more
Intimate that way.
We spent almost too much time on our first row,
Our second,
Our third,
Knitting yarn laced with endless
Memories,
Stories,
Laughs,
And a certain fondness that was new and
Exhilarating.
We pause,
Our hands tired and aching
Through the hard, tedious hours.
We admire the gorgeous cabling of our
Best days,
The ugly, bumpy, knotted purling of
Our worst.
The yarn is crumpled and twisted
From when we had to rip and
Start over.
Wear and tear,
Passionate red and bruised blue,
Stockinette and dropped stitches.
This is what beautiful is.
A scarf that forever winds around us,
Pulling us closer and keeping us warmer.