shouts of joy

Stitched up tight is how things should be.  Tenderly mended,  Even doubled-up over time for an extra strong stitch. Sometimes the strings come loose.  They rip out when there's a pull on the fabric. One side of the seam is pulled, while the other is yanked in an opposing direction.  This is when the stitching tears. The material shreds; the thread breaks.  Now there is neither material, nor thread. How can the stitches be replaced?  What will keep any material together now? I wonder if stitches can ever be remended.  Oh, what it would be like to have some stitches now! How much love we could hold in our pockets,  if they weren't ripped out.  We could hold the love,  and it would bind us closer. How close would we be bound?  I can imagine, one day, we will.

Blank space is so intimidating after a long stay in the un-blank. It's been a long time since an empty blog post stared me down. I know it's needed. I've been expecting it, But now it's as if there's this unspoken void, Like an acquaintance, our journeys are nothing similar. Yet, so complimentary, But I'd prefer to avoid those facts. It's like peeking into my old cave, Seeing some old, forgotten remnants, Feeling some long-lost emotion. The art - left on those once blank walls - is hardly recognizable, Such dark depictions, now a blur. So I meet with my acquaintance, Since we have so much in common. Then I'll clean out the blank space To create a place I need now. Next time we meet, I predict it will be peaceful.