She pulled the threads on her hoodie, the only thing protecting her from the world around her. If she didnt have it on, the entire world would see her. Vulnerable. Naked. SEEN. She pulled the sleeves down over her hands. It’s warmth her only protection from the people she met.
The thread twisted into knots, tangled into the rest of the sewing box, needles, pins, and good intentions.
I am a thread. Small and fragile. Flowing whichever way the wind decides to take me. Sticking out of your coat threatening to fray.
She pulled the threads on her hoodie, the only thing protecting her from the world around her. If she didnt have it on, the entire world would see her. Vulnerable. Naked. SEEN. She pulled the sleeves down over her hands. It’s warmth her only protection from the people she met.