Delicate seams hung, lonesome, fragile, frayed. It appeared the stitches that had once woven a warmth, so comforting, had now turned cold. All the memories held captive by the simple bounds of cotton, were now being released, alongside the grief within me. I had worn you with pride. I had shown you the world. I gave a part of me to you. This little movie of ours- it’s denouement- was agonising. What was left of our tale now but loose threads? Something I had held so close to my heart, seemed to be the only thing breaking it apart. It was trying to piece itself back together- just as I had tried to save this pathetic rag from tearing apart. Completely. Golden hues had once coated your surface; but, the treasure had been found a long time ago. Just like love-ours in fact-there comes a time where value declines, what once was my most beloved possession-was now my deepest regret. The smell of you still managed to linger,barely, but it was enough to repulse me. For what use did this scrap have now? Remembering your touch, letting go of your grasp through the torn threads in my hand- this. This was my hardest goodbye.