Another unfinished thought.
It troubles me that I feel you are my youth.
That what I was had always been you, and
when we met, it was like losing my first tooth.
A light-footed fairy stole it away to a faraway land.
While my brain was a mess,
a new confidence was born.
It was not well worn.
In fact it became stress.
My words were so hollow.
I wish that I could follow
all the places they go,
where I want to be, and to sew.
What you knit me was a warm wrap,
with a ball that drew me a new life.
In the Winter I might use it as a map
to find what we were and what felt so safe.