She never did like thready business.
Yet there she was, darning holes, patching elbows, sewing up dangling hems and chasing runs on stockings.
How did it ever come to that?
She squinted and held the needle to the light.
The story of her life, it was. That squeezing through the eye of the needle. Barely, barely making do. Struggling to fit another stitch before the end of her rope.
It was all wrong.
She tied the knot.
She tied another, hoping it would hold. Hoping that the hidden stitches she put in will keep things covered long enough to soothe the chill that ever lurked, awaiting exposed places.
Existing really should not be so threadbare.
The thin wrap of life, knit together moment by moment in complicated patterns of dropped stitches and messy mistakes.
Will it come together at the end?
She did not know, but she hoped.