This poem is about the profound peace you can find when you stops fighting the natural processes of sorrow and transformation, finding ultimate rest in acceptance.
You are like a thread coming undone, give up. On the light, the whisper of silence is cold and too deep; even a single strand refuses the night. Still, in the unraveling, a memory replays like a breath you were holding in. The tension is gone, but it begs for you to sleep. And in that space, the fabric remembers what hands have held you. The fight to stay whole has finally drifted away. The memory replays, but it loses its sting. Let the worn fibers settle; grant yourself release. The silence is not cold, but a gentle, soft thing. You do not break; you simply drift from the seam, finding the quiet ease of a long, peaceful dream. Even endings are ways the heart is sewn back together to find its hole.
