It's so hard to stay when everything in you
is begging to run
and the only thing holding you
is a strand of thread.

I have to stay, they won't let me go without a fight
and I'm too tired to fight the people I love
when all I ever wanted was a place to stay
where 'we' weren't hanging by a thread.

The 'we's have come and gone
some have cut the thread
and some threads I have cut.
Each time it starts as a bond
of cotton, silk, leather, spandex,
each time it ends with a thread.

They don't mean to and neither do I
but we drift,
the fabric stretches,
and all that's left is the thread.

This time I promised not to leave
so I guess I have to stay
and wait to resew what is left
or watch someone else cut the thread.

My dear friends mean the world to me.
I wish I could give them more than just a thread.