These diverging opportunities
Continue to split down the universe's seam,
as we propel ourselves in opposite directions.
Our affectionate thread can no longer pace itself with our ******* anguish,
the ravaging conflict.

My hands,
holding the repelling sides of our worlds together,
attempting to sew ourselves again,
grow weak from the increasing tension.
My muscles bend and flutter under my trauma,
the horror I feel with one picture,
the tears I cry as I sleep,
from the dreams of a patched world,
a needle unable to sustain my love for you,
and your love for me.