A snag a quick tug—

A snag, a quick tug—

a single thread breaks free,

dangling, mocking,

on the edge of my sleeve.

I pull it back, careful, fingers fumbling,

but it slips again, faster this time,

a quiet warning unraveling.

Each loop undone feels like a breath missed,

a patch left bare,

skin showing through wool worn thin.

The bus rumbles up,

a gray blur swallowing the sidewalk.

I stand there holding the loose end,

half afraid to let go,

half afraid to hold on.