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Greetings earthling.

Welcome to my haven of writings and thoughts. Magical thinking is encouraged.

FRAGMENT

FRAGMENT

"Real love is the One celebrating itself as two." -Ram Dass

Thread by thread
we compose our story,

both the weaver
and the woven entwined.
Like a centuries-old Berber rug,
cream with black lines
and tribal symbols to pattern the
wishes, fears, protection, beliefs, experiences,
of the creator,
the story of our crossings
can be found
in its soft, sturdy structure.

The shapes in these threads,
tell a story of the home
I share with you
among the lattice,
woven over eons,
where you and I are the same.
We enter one another’s thoughts
with ease and grace
for there is no difference
between my fiber and yours,
there is only that which together they create.

Thread by thread,
the tapestry made of you and I
slowly rips apart.
I grasp for the thick, soft pile threads
as they mercilessly spin and pull away from me.
It comes undone more quickly,
mocking my attempt.
Piles of chaos and string,
now cream and black snakes,
begin to surround me as they hang
from frayed, uneven edges.

I feel the break of each string,
each snap a non-consensual descent,
as the rip moves closer to the other edge.
Fix the tear in us!

I plead.
For it was small at first,
but eternal at most.
I pound thread and needles
in clenched palms
against your chest.
These tools-
obvious, accessible, necessary-
available to repair us.
Pushing them away,
you say it is easier
to sever and remain broken
than to repair. 

Thread by thread,
the tapestry made of you and I
slowly rips apart.
It is a splintering so loud,
the sound barrier shivers
in the wake of each crack.
It is a return to nothingness
like dust to dust,
dissolving down to chalky, scraggy ends,
hopeless and alone
without pattern or purpose
as if they never spun the tale of you and I.
Why do you let me be removed from you?

Finally,
the weight of all that unraveled
pulls down the last of the remaining cord.
The last standing soldier slain in battle,
steadfast, unyielding, devoted,
it happened with one
final
snap.
All you say is
this is the way it is.

For I am broken,
I am broken,
I am broken,
You recoil. 

But we were whole!
You were whole!
I was whole!
Remember!

My tattered piece floats down to the floor
away from you.

Thread by thread,
the tapestry made of you and I
slowly ripped apart.
From the floor,
alone,
the mind does not fathom
the waking nightmare of this moment.
Terror as you’ve never considered;
the conditions of separation.
And what is greater than the fear of a string,
than to sit in its solitude
unused for a grander purpose-
no dye, no weave, no bead, no fabric, no story-
to bind to another.
Waiting on a spool,
or a bed of scraps,
indefinitely.  

Time moves,
as do I.
Your fragment cries out to mine
in the middle of the night,
But I do not hear the quivers
you once sent through our wires.
Your thoughts no longer flow
through my head,
as mine certainly do not visit yours.
I try to find you,
and when I do
it is as if you’re hidden behind glass
and I cannot hear you clearly,
your voice stifled
by the conditions of your world,
your throat filled
with water of words
I cannot make out.
You stayed in the old world
and I can’t hear you from here.   

Thread by thread,
the tapestry made of you and I
slowly ripped apart.
Anyone who meets this remaining piece of me now
will never know of the patterns
that existed beyond the edges
they currently see.
Anyone who meets this remaining piece of me now
will always know this slice
of what was once our fabric
a little differently;
you are missing from me.
Anyone who meets me now,
sees a different and new wholeness.
This piece of the cloth,
which once included you,
from us,
now is in itself complete
all on its own.
Just as the edges we shared were,
too. 

Thread by thread,
we learn the lessons of this place.
Duality;
Separation and Unity;
Mastery.
To come into knowing
that at the moment of tearing
when all stretching and scars feel unbearable,
that all the blaring threadbare edges
will quiet themselves
and the frayed strings
eventually fall off
and the trim becomes flesh again.
To the point
no will ever know you once were
intertwined, interlaced, inter-everything
with another so tightly.  

Thread by thread,
we learn
there are many ways to be whole.

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Cover Image Source: Author's own

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