thread the string through the needle,

tie a knot at the end,

poke the needle through the fabric,

pull through,

and again,

until two separate sides are glued

together.

I sat on his bed,

stitching the rips in his pants

jeans so thread bare and falling apart,

I doubted a little thread could start

what was needed to fix them.

But he requested and so I offered my best,

sitting on the edge of his bed,

cheeks redding for his gaze

was not directed at me but at the wound

on my right wrist.

"What happened?" spoke his curiosity, 

and I mumbled the usual story,

a scrape, an accident, I'm so clumsy

but he didn't stay to listen to me.

Instead from the bathroom he retrieved

a medicine cream.

And gentle with his fingers,

he dabbled it on me,

and I sat still on the edge of his bed,

pushing my needle and thread

through my finger tips

so I would not reach out at touch him.

So thread bare and falling apart,

I doubted a little love could mend my heart.

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