I took hold of the end of a thread, one day, and pledged to carry it with me to the end of my days.
After I left the room, I tugged the thread and there was a tug at the other end.
I tugged the thread again and was answered by another tug.
A vague smile arose, glad and saddened by its success.
On the second day, I tugged the thread and was replied with a tug from the other end.
I tugged the thread and there was a tug.
If I needed confirmation, I knew now for sure it was me at both ends of the thread, tied to that first moment of that first day.
And so it continued, on each day, through every changing day; through great moments and sad, innocuous moments and enthralling, through love, through loss. Whenever I tugged the thread, always the same response.
And now as I lay here, knowing my day will soon end, I tug on the thread and there is tug at the other end.
It felt not a moment ago I picked up the thread. I still feel like I felt when I first took it in my hand.
I tug the thread, and the thread is drawn through my fingers.
vss #81
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