i picked your thread out from the bunch, got my needle, and my design in mind.
it was a forever.
so i began to sew you into my life story; a stitch where i said i love you for the first time, a stitch where we had our first kiss, a stitch where you hesitated to reply.
eventually our thread together grew too weak, from the strained forced intimacy, countless nights of never hearing from you, and we broke.
you were never sorry.
YOU ARE READING
remains of a harpoon.
Poetrythis is just a jumble of stories and my emotions that will never be unfinished. no trigger warnings. im sorry.
