there was a thread sticking out of my clothes. a little blue one. it just sat there and waved at me as the breeze ruffled it. it was annoying me so i took some scissors and cut it off. the end
Alex
The needle paves the way for the thread yet again. In and out, weaving in an all too familiar pattern. And the pair work tirelessly to save the day once more.
Threads. Metaphorical threads bind people together. Weak relationships, the threads are just broken easily. But with strong relationships, relationships with love, the threads are woven back and forth for a long time, never really breaking, just knotting up and getting tangled, but still keeping you connected to the people you truly love.
Thread is smooth. And skinny. Use it to make things like friendship bracelets or even sew with it. A thread is what weaves you together. Friendship!
Alice
i was hanging by nothing more than a thread. the world seemed so far away. this tiny piece of greyish twine keeping me from completely loosing my mind. it was a loose piece of thread from my knitted sweater that my mother knitted for me.
Dave
A loose thread hung limp and useless from the sleeve of her navy suede jacket, the only remainder of the four-eyed copper button that finally gave way and fell off last week after months of desperately clinging on. It made me wonder about her, about us. That button had been loose for so long. I kept telling her to do something about it. “Give it to me and I’ll sew it on tighter,” I had gently prodded a couple of days after I’d first noticed. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do it,” she said in that assuring but, as I’ve only recently discovered, quite hollow tone that is her nature. Days passed, then weeks. I continued to remind her, softly of course because I didn’t want to put too much importance on such a petty matter. No need to seem anal. “It’s such a nice jacket sweetie, it really is. It would be a shame to see it get ruined.” But, as always, she would press her lips tightly together – a smile – and nod her head vacantly. The truth is, it nagged at me. It occupied my whole conscience, my whole being. It was like that tiny copper disk was taunting me. I could almost hear it snicker. Don’t misunderstand, I do not suffer a severe case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I am quite relaxed in fact but this button…ugh…it ate up at my insides. Why wouldn’t she take care of it? Why wouldn’t she just fix it? She knew it was loose. She knew it was bound to fall off if she didn’t do something, anything. She wouldn’t even do it just to please me. Maybe it didn’t bother her, maybe she didn’t care, but could she not at least humor me? I even offered to fix it myself. But, as always, I was gracefully brushed aside. An inconvenience, that’s what I am to Grace. That’s what I’ve always been.
I was the one who had bought Grace the navy jacket after seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw it on display in that fancy outlet store downtown. I remember returning to the store that very day imagining her reaction when I brought home the jacket in one of those boxes with the fancy pink bows. It took me a while to recover from the initial shock of seeing the price tag but I eventually manned up, returned to the store and bought the jacket. I was so proud of myself, I thought I’d really gotten it right this time. When she saw it she cooed and ahhed and pecked me on the cheek. She seemed genuinely pleased, but I could tell that the jacket didn’t ring a bell with her. She didn’t remember it as the one she’d admired only a week ago when we were shopping. It’s okay, I’d thought, she loves it. She does. I really believed it. In fact, I still think she did love it. It’s just that, I loved it more. I loved the way it fit snuggly around her petite waist, how it outlined her perfect figure. I loved the way her blonde hair seemed to glow against the dark navy of the jacket. Whenever she wore it I always made sure to wear my best coat and my good shoes, wanting to live up to the beauty she radiated.
I am packing my things now. I want to be gone before she gets home from work. It’s too painful to watch the motions of her everyday routine. Always, when she came home, I would be in the living room and, sometimes, I would close my eyes and imagine what she was doing, two rooms over. Right now, I can’t help but do the same. She always turned the key slowly, softly, never really in any rush to come inside. The keys would clink delicately as she took them out of the lock and quietly shut the door. She would slide out of her painful work heels, leaving them lying next to the entrance and slowly pad to the closet. She always worked her way to the closet, wiggling her toes, painted Jungle Red or Midnight Blue or maybe Sunshine Yellow, and wincing as her sore feet hit the cold, indifferent tiles. I can imagine her standing in front of our small closet, tucking a golden lock of hair behind her ear then rubbing the nape of her neck like she always did when she was elsewhere. If she was wearing a jacket that day she would slip it off and hang it up, always a little crooked, and then drop her keys into the pocket closest to her. If not, she always slipped her keys into the navy one, the one with the copper buttons. Then, she trudged upstairs, already pealing off her work clothes as she made her way up. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes would pass, before she finally made her way downstairs with her eye glasses in one hand and an unread book in the other. Sometimes, depending on how eager she was to start her novel, she would stop in the kitchen to make a cup of coffee – black, no sugar – before making her way to the living room, where I was, sitting on the couch, with the TV on mute and a prop, usually the paper, in my hand, waiting. She would turn on the light before noticing me. She always seemed startled to see me. “Oh sweetie, I didn’t know you were home.” Yet I always was.
But not today. Today, when she comes home, all that will be left on the couch are my keys. And in the pocket of the navy jacket they’ll be a note and the four-eyed copper button that gave way and fell off last week.
twine. a knitted jumper. cute on an indie chick. wool. old. mouse mice. cat kitten. a thread of wool slippind off my jumper after getting caught on a nail.
David
What holds things together. What keeps things from coming apart.
jarrett
i have this thread thats red, and you need to pull it through four items of clothes to make sure that they all fit together, in other words there should be a colour that is similar so that it looks like a red thread running through the different items and that they indeed belong together. that is what creates fashion, putting items together that are not the same, but that fits together somehow anyway.
KB
חוט הוא משהו מאוד דק. דק כל כך ורך. הוא נקרע בקלות, אבל מחזיק בתוכו יותר ממה שנראה לעין. חוט הוא חוט בתוך חוט בשילוב עם עוד חוטים. כמה חוט יכול להחזיק? כדאי לשאול אותו, אין לדעת מה הוא עלול לעשות…
uri
You have left me hanging by a thread. My emotions in a knot and my life out of balance. I hope you never know the control you had over me. I will never love the way I loved you.
Bex
The Eldest spins, silk that is more precious than sun, than time, while the Second measures and swiftly bundles the thread into spools. The Youngest; the Third, the Cutter–draws her shears, snipping here and there, and once it is cut it cannot be retied. The Sisters are silent, cold, ancient. They will not stop for you.
Time are threads.
Everything is predetermined.
isabellesc
the thread was long. it was decidedly long. excruciatingly long. and then it was cut. And thus is life.
Scully
The magic thread can weave is unlimited and countless. From gowns to trousers, anything that the human mind conjures can be created with just that, thread. Ranging from colors that surpass the simple rainbow.
yana
I lost the thread of the conversation. I kept daydreaming, thinking of all the past hurts and slights and I couldn’t focus on what was happening right now in the conversation. Would I later look back on this as another hurtful occasion?
love is a wondeful . but im alone now. i need someone
Masyita
thread reminds me of sowing . . my brother has been sowing a lot latelty , bit of a wierd hobby but i guess if its what your into , i dont really like sowing . . its ok. bit boring sometimes and i always do a bad job of it . :P
sarah gleeson
Woven
Tight
You
Tear
Away
Every
Fiber
of
my
being
as
you
come
unstrung.
Felicia
I didn’t know about threads. One day, a man, an old man came beside me and tried to make me listen about them.I didn’t care. And I fell down because of that. Threads change life…Even one thread.And colours of them have a tottally different meaning.Ofcourse..
ekin
He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. She wanted to cut those precious threads. The ones that had bound them together for the past five years. Their friendship gone. All because some things just could not be left unsaid.
There was a thread on her shirt…it hung so delicately. There was one boy who tried to tear it away, and she thought one day she might let him, but until then he will have to wait.
Elizabeth
Tobey is my dog. I love him more than anyone else. He is the best. My muse, my soul, my heart. I hate when they took him away. I feel lonely and lost. It makes me sad.
Ong Shyne Sze
A long shining silk thread was hanging there, it seemed to be connected to something, i followed it along till i reached the end, it was connected to a glowing ball of light, this was strange. The ball of light had many other threads flowing from it in all directions.
Sadie Fox
threads are really cool…they can be different colours -yellow and green, white an read…the cool thing about them is you can do anything with them…you can decorate your room, knit, hang them from the ceiling, or just look at them forever marveling at the colours and abilities…
Teona
When I was little, I couldn’t thread a needle. I watched my grandmother do it with one of those needle threaders. She could do it in an instant. I tried. Still had pro
60 seconds? Okay well thread, threads in material..of clothes. Threads in messageboards. What the heck am I supposed to say? Oh I know, I don’t usually post in threads. I read them. Yes. I’d rather filter the crap and absorb the good stuff.
This thread. This single thread. It’s so insignificant, and yet it’s the only thing keeping me connected to this world. Theoretically of course. It would make no sense if I were to suddenly fly off into the reaches of space without being tied down by this thread.
Alex
the thread is blue and very long i use it to make a beautiful gown that i can wear out to nights on the town the gown will be long and glamourous maybe red or white somehwat of a moder flash back to marylin monroe.
lisa
The scarlet thread runs through the Bible. A symbol of the hope and grace brought to mankind through Jesus’ blood. It binds us together, uniting us in the tapestry of human civilisation. It is hope.
Krissie
I had a piece of thread and decided it would be the perfect device for hanging my paper cranes that I had spent all yesterday folding. They look beautiful above my window, swaying in the morning breeze.
Brittany
I dont know i dont want it i want to be me i want friends beside me..im afraid i feel alone even though i have enoughf friends…i dont know why im feeling bad..i want to be frozen in time for ever
jo
Thread has the word read in it and it it used as a word within computers aswell as like a sewing thing. Thread is quite a nice word to say and I think about clothes when i see it
bradley mcflinn
one word is not two words
Lee
I often lose my thread when I’m trying to talk about something and a word or something I see completely distracts me and I shoot off at a tangent….ooh look at those shoes, I’ve been fancying some new converse for a while now I wonder where he got those from?
A tenuous grasp on reality, holding onto the thread takes all my concentration. How anyone does it on a daily basis is beyond me and my tenuous grasp on reality.
Aimz
an ongoing bunch of crap that people write about on the interweb regarding a topic that is more often than not regarded as STUPID or POINTLESS!!
Amy
plus a spool, it slips through the eye of a needle, delicately like a feather, stitches up old cardigans, mending each loose materials.
S
Is best used with a needle, when one wishes to mend things which have become torn and frayed from years of use. It comes in varying colors and thickness, texture and quality. Using thread to mend your own clothing is cost effective.
cat needle knot stitch dress kite cut scissors color sew design eye food surgery patterns clo
our lives are a thread, governed by fate.
there was a thread sticking out of my clothes. a little blue one. it just sat there and waved at me as the breeze ruffled it. it was annoying me so i took some scissors and cut it off. the end
The needle paves the way for the thread yet again. In and out, weaving in an all too familiar pattern. And the pair work tirelessly to save the day once more.
Threads. Metaphorical threads bind people together. Weak relationships, the threads are just broken easily. But with strong relationships, relationships with love, the threads are woven back and forth for a long time, never really breaking, just knotting up and getting tangled, but still keeping you connected to the people you truly love.
Thread is smooth. And skinny. Use it to make things like friendship bracelets or even sew with it. A thread is what weaves you together. Friendship!
i was hanging by nothing more than a thread. the world seemed so far away. this tiny piece of greyish twine keeping me from completely loosing my mind. it was a loose piece of thread from my knitted sweater that my mother knitted for me.
A loose thread hung limp and useless from the sleeve of her navy suede jacket, the only remainder of the four-eyed copper button that finally gave way and fell off last week after months of desperately clinging on. It made me wonder about her, about us. That button had been loose for so long. I kept telling her to do something about it. “Give it to me and I’ll sew it on tighter,” I had gently prodded a couple of days after I’d first noticed. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do it,” she said in that assuring but, as I’ve only recently discovered, quite hollow tone that is her nature. Days passed, then weeks. I continued to remind her, softly of course because I didn’t want to put too much importance on such a petty matter. No need to seem anal. “It’s such a nice jacket sweetie, it really is. It would be a shame to see it get ruined.” But, as always, she would press her lips tightly together – a smile – and nod her head vacantly. The truth is, it nagged at me. It occupied my whole conscience, my whole being. It was like that tiny copper disk was taunting me. I could almost hear it snicker. Don’t misunderstand, I do not suffer a severe case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I am quite relaxed in fact but this button…ugh…it ate up at my insides. Why wouldn’t she take care of it? Why wouldn’t she just fix it? She knew it was loose. She knew it was bound to fall off if she didn’t do something, anything. She wouldn’t even do it just to please me. Maybe it didn’t bother her, maybe she didn’t care, but could she not at least humor me? I even offered to fix it myself. But, as always, I was gracefully brushed aside. An inconvenience, that’s what I am to Grace. That’s what I’ve always been.
I was the one who had bought Grace the navy jacket after seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw it on display in that fancy outlet store downtown. I remember returning to the store that very day imagining her reaction when I brought home the jacket in one of those boxes with the fancy pink bows. It took me a while to recover from the initial shock of seeing the price tag but I eventually manned up, returned to the store and bought the jacket. I was so proud of myself, I thought I’d really gotten it right this time. When she saw it she cooed and ahhed and pecked me on the cheek. She seemed genuinely pleased, but I could tell that the jacket didn’t ring a bell with her. She didn’t remember it as the one she’d admired only a week ago when we were shopping. It’s okay, I’d thought, she loves it. She does. I really believed it. In fact, I still think she did love it. It’s just that, I loved it more. I loved the way it fit snuggly around her petite waist, how it outlined her perfect figure. I loved the way her blonde hair seemed to glow against the dark navy of the jacket. Whenever she wore it I always made sure to wear my best coat and my good shoes, wanting to live up to the beauty she radiated.
I am packing my things now. I want to be gone before she gets home from work. It’s too painful to watch the motions of her everyday routine. Always, when she came home, I would be in the living room and, sometimes, I would close my eyes and imagine what she was doing, two rooms over. Right now, I can’t help but do the same. She always turned the key slowly, softly, never really in any rush to come inside. The keys would clink delicately as she took them out of the lock and quietly shut the door. She would slide out of her painful work heels, leaving them lying next to the entrance and slowly pad to the closet. She always worked her way to the closet, wiggling her toes, painted Jungle Red or Midnight Blue or maybe Sunshine Yellow, and wincing as her sore feet hit the cold, indifferent tiles. I can imagine her standing in front of our small closet, tucking a golden lock of hair behind her ear then rubbing the nape of her neck like she always did when she was elsewhere. If she was wearing a jacket that day she would slip it off and hang it up, always a little crooked, and then drop her keys into the pocket closest to her. If not, she always slipped her keys into the navy one, the one with the copper buttons. Then, she trudged upstairs, already pealing off her work clothes as she made her way up. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes would pass, before she finally made her way downstairs with her eye glasses in one hand and an unread book in the other. Sometimes, depending on how eager she was to start her novel, she would stop in the kitchen to make a cup of coffee – black, no sugar – before making her way to the living room, where I was, sitting on the couch, with the TV on mute and a prop, usually the paper, in my hand, waiting. She would turn on the light before noticing me. She always seemed startled to see me. “Oh sweetie, I didn’t know you were home.” Yet I always was.
But not today. Today, when she comes home, all that will be left on the couch are my keys. And in the pocket of the navy jacket they’ll be a note and the four-eyed copper button that gave way and fell off last week.
twine. a knitted jumper. cute on an indie chick. wool. old. mouse mice. cat kitten. a thread of wool slippind off my jumper after getting caught on a nail.
What holds things together. What keeps things from coming apart.
i have this thread thats red, and you need to pull it through four items of clothes to make sure that they all fit together, in other words there should be a colour that is similar so that it looks like a red thread running through the different items and that they indeed belong together. that is what creates fashion, putting items together that are not the same, but that fits together somehow anyway.
חוט הוא משהו מאוד דק. דק כל כך ורך. הוא נקרע בקלות, אבל מחזיק בתוכו יותר ממה שנראה לעין. חוט הוא חוט בתוך חוט בשילוב עם עוד חוטים. כמה חוט יכול להחזיק? כדאי לשאול אותו, אין לדעת מה הוא עלול לעשות…
You have left me hanging by a thread. My emotions in a knot and my life out of balance. I hope you never know the control you had over me. I will never love the way I loved you.
The Eldest spins, silk that is more precious than sun, than time, while the Second measures and swiftly bundles the thread into spools. The Youngest; the Third, the Cutter–draws her shears, snipping here and there, and once it is cut it cannot be retied. The Sisters are silent, cold, ancient. They will not stop for you.
Time are threads.
Everything is predetermined.
the thread was long. it was decidedly long. excruciatingly long. and then it was cut. And thus is life.
The magic thread can weave is unlimited and countless. From gowns to trousers, anything that the human mind conjures can be created with just that, thread. Ranging from colors that surpass the simple rainbow.
I lost the thread of the conversation. I kept daydreaming, thinking of all the past hurts and slights and I couldn’t focus on what was happening right now in the conversation. Would I later look back on this as another hurtful occasion?
love is a wondeful . but im alone now. i need someone
thread reminds me of sowing . . my brother has been sowing a lot latelty , bit of a wierd hobby but i guess if its what your into , i dont really like sowing . . its ok. bit boring sometimes and i always do a bad job of it . :P
Woven
Tight
You
Tear
Away
Every
Fiber
of
my
being
as
you
come
unstrung.
I didn’t know about threads. One day, a man, an old man came beside me and tried to make me listen about them.I didn’t care. And I fell down because of that. Threads change life…Even one thread.And colours of them have a tottally different meaning.Ofcourse..
He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. She wanted to cut those precious threads. The ones that had bound them together for the past five years. Their friendship gone. All because some things just could not be left unsaid.
There was a thread on her shirt…it hung so delicately. There was one boy who tried to tear it away, and she thought one day she might let him, but until then he will have to wait.
Tobey is my dog. I love him more than anyone else. He is the best. My muse, my soul, my heart. I hate when they took him away. I feel lonely and lost. It makes me sad.
A long shining silk thread was hanging there, it seemed to be connected to something, i followed it along till i reached the end, it was connected to a glowing ball of light, this was strange. The ball of light had many other threads flowing from it in all directions.
threads are really cool…they can be different colours -yellow and green, white an read…the cool thing about them is you can do anything with them…you can decorate your room, knit, hang them from the ceiling, or just look at them forever marveling at the colours and abilities…
When I was little, I couldn’t thread a needle. I watched my grandmother do it with one of those needle threaders. She could do it in an instant. I tried. Still had pro
60 seconds? Okay well thread, threads in material..of clothes. Threads in messageboards. What the heck am I supposed to say? Oh I know, I don’t usually post in threads. I read them. Yes. I’d rather filter the crap and absorb the good stuff.
This thread. This single thread. It’s so insignificant, and yet it’s the only thing keeping me connected to this world. Theoretically of course. It would make no sense if I were to suddenly fly off into the reaches of space without being tied down by this thread.
the thread is blue and very long i use it to make a beautiful gown that i can wear out to nights on the town the gown will be long and glamourous maybe red or white somehwat of a moder flash back to marylin monroe.
The scarlet thread runs through the Bible. A symbol of the hope and grace brought to mankind through Jesus’ blood. It binds us together, uniting us in the tapestry of human civilisation. It is hope.
I had a piece of thread and decided it would be the perfect device for hanging my paper cranes that I had spent all yesterday folding. They look beautiful above my window, swaying in the morning breeze.
I dont know i dont want it i want to be me i want friends beside me..im afraid i feel alone even though i have enoughf friends…i dont know why im feeling bad..i want to be frozen in time for ever
Thread has the word read in it and it it used as a word within computers aswell as like a sewing thing. Thread is quite a nice word to say and I think about clothes when i see it
one word is not two words
I often lose my thread when I’m trying to talk about something and a word or something I see completely distracts me and I shoot off at a tangent….ooh look at those shoes, I’ve been fancying some new converse for a while now I wonder where he got those from?
A tenuous grasp on reality, holding onto the thread takes all my concentration. How anyone does it on a daily basis is beyond me and my tenuous grasp on reality.
an ongoing bunch of crap that people write about on the interweb regarding a topic that is more often than not regarded as STUPID or POINTLESS!!
plus a spool, it slips through the eye of a needle, delicately like a feather, stitches up old cardigans, mending each loose materials.
Is best used with a needle, when one wishes to mend things which have become torn and frayed from years of use. It comes in varying colors and thickness, texture and quality. Using thread to mend your own clothing is cost effective.