Wayward

Replanting

She finds that holes can rip easily and pulls at her sock, the gap now much wider than it was originally. Threads threatening to come undone and fearfully she stops. She takes a breath and briefly closes her eyes [far too long for it to be considered as a blink]. She finds the book placed beside her and takes it in her arms again, holding onto it like she held her heart; loosely and half-heartedly. Faint visions of countless shifts from house to house appeared like the start of a film in her mind. The packing and repacking, saying goodbyes to old people only to welcome new people- sometimes she was tired of it. After all, how many times can a flower be replanted before it withers?