In the end, it’s not the loss itself that unravels you
But the loss of self
Just a pile of thread pooled at your keeper’s feet
A gaping portal you wish they’d step into
So you could weave yourself back together
Molded around their form, taking their shape
A skein of two people as one
Where before you were wound tightly around some invisible core
Coiled and springy with anticipation
Dancing on nerves, LED and ringing
Now you’re tired and still, edges smoothed and smothered
Collapsed into some lower dimension
Flattened and undone in their eyes
A listless string, God only to ants