I was born with a mending thread. A gift.

I see sadness and stich smiles.  

I see a hole and stich a patch.

I see a broken heart and seek to mend it.

I  see loneliness and weave it into a magical tapestry.  

It is my nature.  

Yours is a different cloth. The strongest and most elusive I have seen.  

Try as I might to lay a stich, my thread dissolves, my needle misses.

I still always feel the need to try, though the fabric resists.