Your seams were undone. I tried, and all I wanted is for everything to be the way it could have. After trying to tie up the loose ends, in hopes of crafting a new piece, you started tugging the threads a little too late and I began feeding off every one of the flecks you've sprinkled on me. Why now? I keep taking and taking, and the more I take, the more you're warmly nested in my mind. I'll leave things to be. I'm not intrepid enough. And if I were, I would be terrified unconditionally.