Worn Threads

In a thrift store corner, it caught my eye,

   a maroon scarf, a whisper of why.

   Frayed edges spoke tales of warmth and of pain,

   the scent of the past lingered, bittersweet rain.

   Wrapped it around me, a soft, heavy weight,

   threads of connection—was it love or fate?

   Real or imagined, could anyone tell?

   A borrowed memory, as it slipped from its shell.