You and I are a weaving.
We wind back and forth, into and out of eachother's lives.
Clashing and cringeing, wounding with harsh words and misunderstanding.
Then reaching out again, unable to stay away as if we are magnet and metal, drawn back by a pull we cannot explain or control.
Every time adding more colors to the warp and weft, strengthening the tapestry where outsiders only see the back that doesn't make sense. All the loops and threads separate in knots, unable to appreciate the picture on the other side. Unable to see the beauty of this craft that has taken up years of our lives.
At times we have to unravel to come together again, but we have played at this before and practice has made us skilled.
Sometimes set aside, but always taken back up again by invisible hands we are a cherished craft with memory and meaning.
I would only be straight lines of thread without you to tie me in knots and weave in between thoughts, making me more of me while creating you as well. With your sardonic wit and fiber spell.