The spool of thread

A spool of thread, colors bright but ignored,

a half-finished project, ambition outpoured.

I sift through the box, and time starts to fray,

a flicker of regret leads my heart far away.

Tangled and knotted, yet vibrant and true,

each strand a story, a moment I knew.

But as I unwind it, the past starts to call,

and the thread slips from fingers, unraveling all.