Stitching Time

Amidst the chaos, a box tucked away,

a sewing kit buried, dusty and old,

a spool of thread rolls, inviting the play,

reminders of days when my heart felt bold.

I think of those stitches, my fingers alive,

as I patched up my heart with every tight twist,

a delicate dance, where the memories thrive,

trying to gather the seams that I missed.

Now it lies silent, this frayed thread and me,

a metaphor woven, in fabric, in time,

each loop a reminder of how to be free,

though the knots still tangle, the rhythm feels prime.