The thread held something. It dangled, drawing around the circumference of the gap. The thing seemed to levitate. Float, even. And then, the thread snapped.
Thread is a beginning. Whether it be clothes or thought processes or emotions. We all have common threads. We are all made from the same material, but it’s the way that the thread is weaved and connected that differentiates us from one another. We are the same, yet different.
A thread… lıke a strıng… whıch makes a rope… a rope that tıes us down… tıes thıngs down tıes shıps down… lıke an anchor… all thıs from a thın pıece of thread… that can clothe me and tıe me down… just a pıece of thread threw the needle
The piece that goes through the eye unwillingly, fraying until unusable and tossed aside. That which makes the needle tool rather than weapon. That which makes pictures of texture and color.
the big ball of thread tumbled further and further down the hall. The small children didn’t think, they just acted. They chased after it, with out a worry in the world as to what lie ahead.
Thread. How interesting. I learned to thread a little while ago actually. I thought it would have been harder but it wasn’t that bad. I wish I was a ninja though and could thread accurately, encouraging beautiful arched eyebrows that I so desperately desire. Hehehe, just kidding, I’m alright. BUT, they would be a nice asset, I suppose. This doesn’t get posted without my permission right?
The threads that hold my family together are thinning as the years go on. Every since our parents passed away, the ties that bind seem to be more and more of an inconvenience than a comfort. Getting older is not as fun as I thought it was going to be.
The threads on the end of the quilt were beginning to unravel. I knew it was a rag quilt, but still. It made me sad. Like some metaphor for the situation unraveling in front of me, falling to little pieces after years of desperately grabbing on. The optimist in me told me wait, don’t cry. It’s only an opportunity to begin again. Take those threads and weave them together anew. There’s no reason to waste them now that you’ve been given another opportunity. Another go around.
A thread runs through everything I do and I ant help it. Sometimes I pulls at it and it unravels but the thread never truly goes away. Over and over I see the same snarls the same knots and the same kinks
The world dangles on a thread. A thread that is maintained by the human race. We hold the power to strengthen or chop the thread, metaphorically, of course. By continuing to do what we’re doing, we are slowly eroding at the thread that keeps us here, and keeps us alive.
I like to write in clichés. Like the one “My life is hanging by a thread”. Which it actually is. I can´t decide if I want to take it humorous and laugh my butt of or if I want to hide in my closet and weep for a full moon cycle.
as i sew up my heart from your last mistake,
i think about how wonderful you were.
this thread cant hold me together for long,
so take the chance, and we can be together forever.<3
All I can think about is how dumb this site is. It has potential to be great but every time I click the button it makes me think about thread. Well weave in some new words for me.
sew with a thread to mend something or put a bead on a thread i have a necklace on a thread and i need a new thread actually two necklaces because the thread is getting very worn and i don’t want to lose my beads! i also have “threads” with my friends on Facebook where we keep in touch and talk about whats been happening
a thread can never be burned…not if one has not the courage to do it. even the most simingly insignificant things in this life can cause a considerable amount of chain reactions.
a thread is a long piece. a piece of what? decide it. use it. stretch it. one thing is for sure though: it is finite. how you use it is for you to decide. no matter how short it is.
thread is the overarching weaver that runs through my life. the threads in my life are God, my family/friends, morals and values. these threads are weaved into all I do and think, all I say and all I want. these threads may be strong or easily broken, the more resilient I am the stronger my thread is and harder it is to break down. I am
the thread of my life has been severed. I never thought that it could end that way, but snap, there it went, severed in two: forever divided between the time before you left, and whatever comes after.
To go all the way to the top, you have to find the right thread to unravel in the hierarchy of this corporation. Otherwise, there’s no way you’ll ever be able to cut through the tightly knit weave of the good old boy network.
i love thread. thread is very useful. in fact if you are trapped on a desert island thread is the most useful thing to have as you can use it for everything. you can use it as fishing line, for holding out meet to drain of blood or to fix your clothing.
many threads made my shirt, and made my pants and my blankets threads hold together everything I own. threads with beads make braclets for me and my best friends.
threads are coming off my favorite pair of shoes which i would like to replace however the website is out of my size which is 7.5. i guess a lot of people must have size 7.5 feet and want a pair of green toms. i feel so average maybe i will buy the funky painted ones they are cute
The red thread was brought out. “Not too much, not too little. Just enough.” muttered the thread master. Despereaux swallowed and tried not to think about it. The red thread was a death sentence. He was about to be sent to the dungeons. To the rats. That’s what happens when you have the red thread. You die.
She picked up the piece of thread between her two little fingers. They were still sore and bruised from the day before. She sighed, then treaded the needle. Or tried to… The thread was frayed and wouldn’t go through the eye. She spit on it, eyeing the room as if her home economics teacher was lurking behind the corner.
For a moment I sat there and realized that a thread was hanging off my world. In attempts to remove it and make my world right again, I pulled the string and slowly watched my whole world unravel.
Something in clothes. Something that repairs things. Can it be used to stitch? I believe so. I don’t know why I’m writing about thread. But, thread can also be the homonym thread for forums. Threads are topics that people are able to conversate with each other about certain things. Thread. Thread. Thread. I’m done. This is my last sentence.
thread holds things together. It comes in many colors, and is basically the part of clothes that keeps it from just being sleeves, legs, collars. It can also be a track to follow, like ‘follow the thread to see where it leads you.’
Thread may just be the very fine piece of substance separating something from itself, or it just may be the small piece that connects two things together. Whichever the two, the insignificance of such a small thing may actually be what makes a huge difference.
i used to have a tiny piece of thread that i called my friend. the thread’s name was jimmy. i loved playing with jimmy all day long. I took him out to dinner once and then lost him in the restaurant. I was so upset. I was going to get a new piece of thread, but I couldn’t afford it.
The thread held something. It dangled, drawing around the circumference of the gap. The thing seemed to levitate. Float, even. And then, the thread snapped.
Thread is a beginning. Whether it be clothes or thought processes or emotions. We all have common threads. We are all made from the same material, but it’s the way that the thread is weaved and connected that differentiates us from one another. We are the same, yet different.
A thread… lıke a strıng… whıch makes a rope… a rope that tıes us down… tıes thıngs down tıes shıps down… lıke an anchor… all thıs from a thın pıece of thread… that can clothe me and tıe me down… just a pıece of thread threw the needle
The piece that goes through the eye unwillingly, fraying until unusable and tossed aside. That which makes the needle tool rather than weapon. That which makes pictures of texture and color.
bnjknfjck ksngkd bj mdkm v dmks gnjrkgnhm mflhnt wkimvi kldmmsjgfnlr kklh lskknfkn mgmf,bk f;ld kfmmnm mcm,bn fkldmbn dflkdmvmn,.n kglfmg kglf mghlv mkflnmg ldm bkf mkblgf fblmfkssnmg kbmsskg slkgmkfds.garg
miles and miles of what was once your favorite shirt, gone. Once a Nucence, now a memory.
the big ball of thread tumbled further and further down the hall. The small children didn’t think, they just acted. They chased after it, with out a worry in the world as to what lie ahead.
Yesterday there was a thread of string was on my shirt. I pulled it off and it ended up being a caterpillar.
Long, red thread, hanging from nothing and going nowhere. It was clean-cut and not unravelling. Beautiful and clear. Such a distinct line to nowhere.
Thread. How interesting. I learned to thread a little while ago actually. I thought it would have been harder but it wasn’t that bad. I wish I was a ninja though and could thread accurately, encouraging beautiful arched eyebrows that I so desperately desire. Hehehe, just kidding, I’m alright. BUT, they would be a nice asset, I suppose. This doesn’t get posted without my permission right?
The threads that hold my family together are thinning as the years go on. Every since our parents passed away, the ties that bind seem to be more and more of an inconvenience than a comfort. Getting older is not as fun as I thought it was going to be.
A single thread in a tapestry… though its color brightly shines ; you can never see its purpose in the pattern of the grand design…
The threads on the end of the quilt were beginning to unravel. I knew it was a rag quilt, but still. It made me sad. Like some metaphor for the situation unraveling in front of me, falling to little pieces after years of desperately grabbing on. The optimist in me told me wait, don’t cry. It’s only an opportunity to begin again. Take those threads and weave them together anew. There’s no reason to waste them now that you’ve been given another opportunity. Another go around.
A thread runs through everything I do and I ant help it. Sometimes I pulls at it and it unravels but the thread never truly goes away. Over and over I see the same snarls the same knots and the same kinks
The world dangles on a thread. A thread that is maintained by the human race. We hold the power to strengthen or chop the thread, metaphorically, of course. By continuing to do what we’re doing, we are slowly eroding at the thread that keeps us here, and keeps us alive.
I like to write in clichés. Like the one “My life is hanging by a thread”. Which it actually is. I can´t decide if I want to take it humorous and laugh my butt of or if I want to hide in my closet and weep for a full moon cycle.
as i sew up my heart from your last mistake,
i think about how wonderful you were.
this thread cant hold me together for long,
so take the chance, and we can be together forever.<3
All I can think about is how dumb this site is. It has potential to be great but every time I click the button it makes me think about thread. Well weave in some new words for me.
sew with a thread to mend something or put a bead on a thread i have a necklace on a thread and i need a new thread actually two necklaces because the thread is getting very worn and i don’t want to lose my beads! i also have “threads” with my friends on Facebook where we keep in touch and talk about whats been happening
a thread can never be burned…not if one has not the courage to do it. even the most simingly insignificant things in this life can cause a considerable amount of chain reactions.
a thread is a long piece. a piece of what? decide it. use it. stretch it. one thing is for sure though: it is finite. how you use it is for you to decide. no matter how short it is.
A thread singular does not have much purpose. However multiple threads woven together act as a team to create human comforts.
thread is the overarching weaver that runs through my life. the threads in my life are God, my family/friends, morals and values. these threads are weaved into all I do and think, all I say and all I want. these threads may be strong or easily broken, the more resilient I am the stronger my thread is and harder it is to break down. I am
the thread of my life has been severed. I never thought that it could end that way, but snap, there it went, severed in two: forever divided between the time before you left, and whatever comes after.
string that hold s my things together small and thin buneeded like all of us we look tiny but toge we hold on well and save each other.
To go all the way to the top, you have to find the right thread to unravel in the hierarchy of this corporation. Otherwise, there’s no way you’ll ever be able to cut through the tightly knit weave of the good old boy network.
i love thread. thread is very useful. in fact if you are trapped on a desert island thread is the most useful thing to have as you can use it for everything. you can use it as fishing line, for holding out meet to drain of blood or to fix your clothing.
many threads made my shirt, and made my pants and my blankets threads hold together everything I own. threads with beads make braclets for me and my best friends.
threads are coming off my favorite pair of shoes which i would like to replace however the website is out of my size which is 7.5. i guess a lot of people must have size 7.5 feet and want a pair of green toms. i feel so average maybe i will buy the funky painted ones they are cute
you could be cat-gutted to the moon as well-well there’s thread for thought!!
A single strand pulled by a passing breeze, clinging to an outstretched bramble holding held her back.
The red thread was brought out. “Not too much, not too little. Just enough.” muttered the thread master. Despereaux swallowed and tried not to think about it. The red thread was a death sentence. He was about to be sent to the dungeons. To the rats. That’s what happens when you have the red thread. You die.
She picked up the piece of thread between her two little fingers. They were still sore and bruised from the day before. She sighed, then treaded the needle. Or tried to… The thread was frayed and wouldn’t go through the eye. She spit on it, eyeing the room as if her home economics teacher was lurking behind the corner.
For a moment I sat there and realized that a thread was hanging off my world. In attempts to remove it and make my world right again, I pulled the string and slowly watched my whole world unravel.
Something in clothes. Something that repairs things. Can it be used to stitch? I believe so. I don’t know why I’m writing about thread. But, thread can also be the homonym thread for forums. Threads are topics that people are able to conversate with each other about certain things. Thread. Thread. Thread. I’m done. This is my last sentence.
…and what of this oneword thing
well blow it!
you could be a puppet on a string-
and not know it!
thread holds things together. It comes in many colors, and is basically the part of clothes that keeps it from just being sleeves, legs, collars. It can also be a track to follow, like ‘follow the thread to see where it leads you.’
Thread may just be the very fine piece of substance separating something from itself, or it just may be the small piece that connects two things together. Whichever the two, the insignificance of such a small thing may actually be what makes a huge difference.
i saw someone sewing in an old rocking chair. her old hand would thread the needle in and out.
i used to have a tiny piece of thread that i called my friend. the thread’s name was jimmy. i loved playing with jimmy all day long. I took him out to dinner once and then lost him in the restaurant. I was so upset. I was going to get a new piece of thread, but I couldn’t afford it.