After three years of home ec, I never learned how to sew. I can’t even thread a sewing machine. I was actually proud of my 10% grade 2 years in a row. Now I want to sew couch cushions and I can’t.
The thread count of my sheets is far superior to that of my roommate’s, but when he thinks of the word thread, he automatically pictures a news thread on the internet. I don’t know why he does this, but his shirts never seem to keep their threads together either; a hole in his wardrobe leads to a whole thread of misconceptions.
i like threads. I find them in my clothes, my furniture, my car. I have threads of many colors and materials. I like to wear blue threads the most. I don’t like yellow threads as much. The threads clash with my skin color.
Thread, thin, golden thread. Memories of young days sewing. Sewing, a childhood dream. Crumbled in my fingers. Fingers, thin and wrinkled. Always were, always will be. Holding hands, grab my hands, tie my hands, bind my hands, with thread.
Thread, like needles making clothes like the precious people of india do for our over populating wealthy american lazy bums. Thread, a single thread can hold together the most complex beautiful things or a single thread cut can be the down fall of greatness.
the thread that holds together so many moments can break so easily. a look, touch, anything. can be sadly snapped like a thread. small fragile and very useful.
Thread your life along
Live until you can’t anymore
Don’t forget, to forget the past and petty details
The picture is much bigger than that
Love until your heart can’t take it
I like thread, because there’s so much of it, but it’s all wound up really small so it looks tiny. I feel kinda like a spool of thread sometimes, like people only see the outside of me wound up, but I actually have so much more of me to share.
the threads that hold us together are wearing thin, worn by weather and anger and frustration and stress of whatever kind you can imagine. there’s just nothing we can do to strengthen them and no more threads to add, so we’re just going to fall apart eventually, since there won’t be anything to hold us together anymore.
slim and white, looping through the holes of my blouse. the longest bit of thread dangling from my sleeve slightly touching my wrist like the light touch of you.
a piece of string that is used in sewing. reminds me when i have to thread a needle for mum cause her eyesight isnt great and i have a steady hand. also reminds me of work in the factory
It’s a simple task. Just threading your life back together. He ripped it apart. He tore it beyond what you thought could be repaired, but then someone came along with a thread. Threaded everything back together and dried the tears. Just when you think you can’t find your seamstress, they’ll come along and make you realize that it was all worth it. Their threading will be like magic. Magic between your lips. Magic between your fingertips. You will not be able to explain it, but you’ll feel it and you will never want it to stop.
P.s. thank you for threading me back together<3
you thread thread through a needle, thread helps keep your clothes together, or you can follow a thread on a blog, and keep commenting about it. Threads keep thoughts, ideas, the fabric of our lives united. Thread is a truly amazing thing.
The thread of the thought was silver and thin, floating away like a spiderweb on the breeze. Every time I reached for it, touched it with my fingertips, there was another gust of breath and it was gone.
when I think of thread I think of the tale of despereuax. what a wonderful book it was when I was a child and it is certainly a favorite of mine! I also think of facebook message threads:P Hahaha way off topic there.
I made this cape for Cameron, and my sewing machine was broken so I had to keep turning the thread manually. If it were for anybody else I’d have waited until I fixed the machine, but I really wanted to make him something as soon as I could. He’s special, and I wanted to make sure I made him something special.
threads very thin and usually black, you can use it for all kinds of things like repairing your pants and whatever other clothes yhouve ripped. thread can also be annoying because it tickles your skin when it brushes past your skin. thread is a very random word:)
The thread was pulled taught. The thread was his life stretched thin and one the verge of pulling apart. His emotions and heat pulled one way. But safety and practicality pulled the other way. He was caught in the tension and being pulled right along with it.
I use thread to sew, but it can have a different meaning with online tools. Some examples are Voice Thread, or a discussion thread on Twitter. Thread is spun from yarn and comes in different colors.
“You take one end, and I’ll take the other.”
“What’s the point of this again?”
“I just wanna see how long it is, okay?”
She huffed, but obliged, holding one end of the thread between her thumb and forefinger. As he backed away slowly, the thread elongated, stretching to its true length.
And she didn’t know why, but the sight of him so far away made her heart ache more than it should have.
threading the world around me, with colors and blacks, thread for them tu cut them at the end, because they will cut, they’ll always cut. Thread made of gold, thread full of colors, hang me when no one can, don’t break, stay shinning.
i pulled it through the needle. it was always so hard to get it right that first time, to see the fraying, wispy end trail through the hole, waiting and wishing but never getting it first time. i had been planning these alterations for weeks- almost enough time for me to put the weight back on. but i knew that i had to make them, regardless.
Thread has so many meaning in this century. It could be as simple as sewing or a internet thread that people can post as many responses as they want, it goes on and on.
“no,kathleen.there is not a thread of evidence showing bogdan ever being afraid of the rokenrollers.just the opposite.they seemed to have a love /love relationship. “
The thread is what holds life itself together. However, there is always one person that suppresses the ability to flick the thread, twist it, and pull it away from the life. Then life would pull apart. But. That is what makes life.
like string, but not like it beacause it’s thread. Thread thinks it’s better than string, and yarn, and all the other threadlike things beacause it might have more letters, but it doesn’t really care beacuse it’s above all that. I like thread. Like alot.
She is hanging on a thread about to snap. Below her, a drop of over 33000 feet awaits, should she let go? Her scream freezes in her throat, her eyes shut. The thread snaps.
I didn’t have a thread of regret in me. I did what was right. It didn’t work in my favor, but I had to be proud of myself. While they made every night count, I sat alone with my thoughts. It wasn’t appreciated on my part, but I just kept reminding myself: I was better.
thread sows. brings things together. binds us. like love. love is the emotional thread of life. weaving in and out of all of us. connecting us, bringing us closer.
but it tears, love like thread tears, rips. can break.
the thread that ties all of us together. that was what came to mind when i read the word of the day. the thread that binds us all is invisible. is it love? i don’t think so because love is not shared unfortunately. some of us love and some of us don’t. i think humanity binds us, our planet binds us, the air binds us. we are alive, and that is the common thread. alive now.
Beneath the spool under a table in a small indentation in Ms. Jordan’s dingy home on the corner of Fifth and Crescent Street lived a family of five mice. The smallest slept always in the bundle of pooling thread that spilled over in turquoise blue masses. Their parents, small round mice with graying hair, made a sort of bed out of cotton balls but somehow always awoke with little thread fibers in their mouths. The oldest child slept on the next biggest mound of warm, soft thread. And the middle child slept on the hammock like sling beneath the two.
Cotton. Sewing. One day I was walking along the road near my home. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small, white, spindly, piece of cotton thread on the sidewalk. I picked it up, remembering that my horoscope for the day was to keep an eye out for hidden treasures.
After three years of home ec, I never learned how to sew. I can’t even thread a sewing machine. I was actually proud of my 10% grade 2 years in a row. Now I want to sew couch cushions and I can’t.
The thread count of my sheets is far superior to that of my roommate’s, but when he thinks of the word thread, he automatically pictures a news thread on the internet. I don’t know why he does this, but his shirts never seem to keep their threads together either; a hole in his wardrobe leads to a whole thread of misconceptions.
i like threads. I find them in my clothes, my furniture, my car. I have threads of many colors and materials. I like to wear blue threads the most. I don’t like yellow threads as much. The threads clash with my skin color.
The thread of life pulled from my vagina linked my body to another’s.
Thread, thin, golden thread. Memories of young days sewing. Sewing, a childhood dream. Crumbled in my fingers. Fingers, thin and wrinkled. Always were, always will be. Holding hands, grab my hands, tie my hands, bind my hands, with thread.
Thread, like needles making clothes like the precious people of india do for our over populating wealthy american lazy bums. Thread, a single thread can hold together the most complex beautiful things or a single thread cut can be the down fall of greatness.
the thread that holds together so many moments can break so easily. a look, touch, anything. can be sadly snapped like a thread. small fragile and very useful.
Thread your life along
Live until you can’t anymore
Don’t forget, to forget the past and petty details
The picture is much bigger than that
Love until your heart can’t take it
I like thread, because there’s so much of it, but it’s all wound up really small so it looks tiny. I feel kinda like a spool of thread sometimes, like people only see the outside of me wound up, but I actually have so much more of me to share.
the threads that hold us together are wearing thin, worn by weather and anger and frustration and stress of whatever kind you can imagine. there’s just nothing we can do to strengthen them and no more threads to add, so we’re just going to fall apart eventually, since there won’t be anything to hold us together anymore.
slim and white, looping through the holes of my blouse. the longest bit of thread dangling from my sleeve slightly touching my wrist like the light touch of you.
a piece of string that is used in sewing. reminds me when i have to thread a needle for mum cause her eyesight isnt great and i have a steady hand. also reminds me of work in the factory
It’s a simple task. Just threading your life back together. He ripped it apart. He tore it beyond what you thought could be repaired, but then someone came along with a thread. Threaded everything back together and dried the tears. Just when you think you can’t find your seamstress, they’ll come along and make you realize that it was all worth it. Their threading will be like magic. Magic between your lips. Magic between your fingertips. You will not be able to explain it, but you’ll feel it and you will never want it to stop.
P.s. thank you for threading me back together<3
you thread thread through a needle, thread helps keep your clothes together, or you can follow a thread on a blog, and keep commenting about it. Threads keep thoughts, ideas, the fabric of our lives united. Thread is a truly amazing thing.
The thread was too short. Ode to the thread that just wasn’t long enough. The thread that was useless because of its end.
The thread of the thought was silver and thin, floating away like a spiderweb on the breeze. Every time I reached for it, touched it with my fingertips, there was another gust of breath and it was gone.
when I think of thread I think of the tale of despereuax. what a wonderful book it was when I was a child and it is certainly a favorite of mine! I also think of facebook message threads:P Hahaha way off topic there.
I don’t like when conversations on forums are called “threads”
It makes me think of a rough texture
I made this cape for Cameron, and my sewing machine was broken so I had to keep turning the thread manually. If it were for anybody else I’d have waited until I fixed the machine, but I really wanted to make him something as soon as I could. He’s special, and I wanted to make sure I made him something special.
threads very thin and usually black, you can use it for all kinds of things like repairing your pants and whatever other clothes yhouve ripped. thread can also be annoying because it tickles your skin when it brushes past your skin. thread is a very random word:)
The thread was pulled taught. The thread was his life stretched thin and one the verge of pulling apart. His emotions and heat pulled one way. But safety and practicality pulled the other way. He was caught in the tension and being pulled right along with it.
thread, weaving left and right, stitching two pieces together
I use thread to sew, but it can have a different meaning with online tools. Some examples are Voice Thread, or a discussion thread on Twitter. Thread is spun from yarn and comes in different colors.
Galère de brisière le film de juste rébeleuse
“You take one end, and I’ll take the other.”
“What’s the point of this again?”
“I just wanna see how long it is, okay?”
She huffed, but obliged, holding one end of the thread between her thumb and forefinger. As he backed away slowly, the thread elongated, stretching to its true length.
And she didn’t know why, but the sight of him so far away made her heart ache more than it should have.
threading the world around me, with colors and blacks, thread for them tu cut them at the end, because they will cut, they’ll always cut. Thread made of gold, thread full of colors, hang me when no one can, don’t break, stay shinning.
i pulled it through the needle. it was always so hard to get it right that first time, to see the fraying, wispy end trail through the hole, waiting and wishing but never getting it first time. i had been planning these alterations for weeks- almost enough time for me to put the weight back on. but i knew that i had to make them, regardless.
Hanging life so gentle and fragile. Burning a candle too close is death. A chain of subtlety bringing the world together.
Thread has so many meaning in this century. It could be as simple as sewing or a internet thread that people can post as many responses as they want, it goes on and on.
“no,kathleen.there is not a thread of evidence showing bogdan ever being afraid of the rokenrollers.just the opposite.they seemed to have a love /love relationship. “
The thread is what holds life itself together. However, there is always one person that suppresses the ability to flick the thread, twist it, and pull it away from the life. Then life would pull apart. But. That is what makes life.
I held on for too long on that thread you’ve let go long ago. And the winds have devoured it, the sun has dried it up. I’m now holding onto dust.
like string, but not like it beacause it’s thread. Thread thinks it’s better than string, and yarn, and all the other threadlike things beacause it might have more letters, but it doesn’t really care beacuse it’s above all that. I like thread. Like alot.
She is hanging on a thread about to snap. Below her, a drop of over 33000 feet awaits, should she let go? Her scream freezes in her throat, her eyes shut. The thread snaps.
I didn’t have a thread of regret in me. I did what was right. It didn’t work in my favor, but I had to be proud of myself. While they made every night count, I sat alone with my thoughts. It wasn’t appreciated on my part, but I just kept reminding myself: I was better.
thread sows. brings things together. binds us. like love. love is the emotional thread of life. weaving in and out of all of us. connecting us, bringing us closer.
but it tears, love like thread tears, rips. can break.
the thread that ties all of us together. that was what came to mind when i read the word of the day. the thread that binds us all is invisible. is it love? i don’t think so because love is not shared unfortunately. some of us love and some of us don’t. i think humanity binds us, our planet binds us, the air binds us. we are alive, and that is the common thread. alive now.
Life is a thread that unravels ever so slowly, falling in waves on the floor making a pattern that stretches throughout your lifetime.
Beneath the spool under a table in a small indentation in Ms. Jordan’s dingy home on the corner of Fifth and Crescent Street lived a family of five mice. The smallest slept always in the bundle of pooling thread that spilled over in turquoise blue masses. Their parents, small round mice with graying hair, made a sort of bed out of cotton balls but somehow always awoke with little thread fibers in their mouths. The oldest child slept on the next biggest mound of warm, soft thread. And the middle child slept on the hammock like sling beneath the two.
Cotton. Sewing. One day I was walking along the road near my home. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small, white, spindly, piece of cotton thread on the sidewalk. I picked it up, remembering that my horoscope for the day was to keep an eye out for hidden treasures.