I found it tangled in my fingers
like a wet strand of hair. It’s disgusting what you can do to me.

What do I do with it- and why do I chose to keep you.

Why is my only choice to wind you up like you’re twine.
Hoard you like I will be able to use you again for something.

When the time comes.
I’ll make a scarf out of you. Some jewellery. A bracelet.

I’ll wrap and twist and build and build.

Can I make you into a blanket. Can you keep me warm. And safe.

Will I find the end of this thread. What else lies here in my bed. Will there be more of this.

Will it be too much work. Do I have it in me. Can’t I just shelf you for later. I wish I can put the time in. As I have.

But you only have given me this one thread. I’ll have to wait a lifetime for the rest of it. As I have, as I will.

Somehow I’ve decided it’s worth it.