Once there was a promise, not made by me. It tore at the very fabric of a being, like undoing a single scrap of cloth from a patchwork quilt. It was an easy rip, the thread was already frayed, even cut in some spots.
But then what? Nothing.
Busy hands that were busy tearing got back to being busy on the project they were supposed to be busy on in the first place. They just needed a break I guess. I guess.
I guess. That’s all I could do, for a time, just guess. Try to help find a new quilt for this scrap to attach to and yet, there wasn’t one. It was never really there. It was a dream, a sweet one at that, a quilt so fine and so full and so warm and comforting against the cold, a quilt that would have smelled like family and was as soft as the way you’d think his hand would touch your face.
I searched, and I found. But how do you tell something with so much potential that it is so valuable and it isn’t wanted? How do you not?
Maybe I’ll come back to it. This quilt that someone else started and left. But it’s not for me to finish, it’s not for me to make promises and it’s certainly not for me to alter. So then….what?
bones on display 