Unraveling

You pull a single thread and the whole sweater begins its slow forgetting—one loop releasing another, the weave collapsing inward like a secret nobody bothered to keep.

Each stitch was a promise. Each knot, a small fist clenched against coming undone. Now the yarn unspools across your lap, a tangled history of what held together, what you wore so close you forgot it was only string.

The maker's hands are gone. The looms are silent. But here— here is her rhythm in the tension, her breath in the weight of it. You are holding her failure and her hope, both at once, both indistinguishable from the same undone thread.

What you thought was solid was always just the agreement between your fingers and the void— a conversation that only works if nobody stops talking. Let it fall. Watch how light moves through the spaces where the pattern was.