Touch my sweater.
Feel the warm fabric caress your hands.
It is woven with threads of love.
Each strand is a loving embrace, a belly laugh, a moment of raw trust.
Every encounter with a friend, stranger or family member tells a colourful story
through the knit of my sweater.
You were a loose thread. I kept tucking you in to make you fit, but you defiantly jutted out again,
away from me.
I must make a cut into the negative weave you continue to pull against.
You are gone.
My sweater is whole again.