The words you say mean nothing to me.
  
While conjuring what you think is a colorful stream of apology mixed with your idea of honesty, your stream simply vanishes inside my now black and white waters.

You have broken me.

You have torn apart the closely stitched fabric which I had opened for you, pulling apart the individual strings, for what I thought was infinity.

How could I have thought of infinity?

Infinity exists only to the point of closure.  When one member of our conjoined species decides that infinity has arrived, how can we stop what is inevitable?

All color then vanishes from iridescent waters.

Color is ****** up and annihilated by the unwound strings, free of the restraining fabric, yet lost within their newly found liberty. Strings…which then wait to be reassembled, piece by piece, until the stitches are snug again.


To begin, I must find the color.