What sort of thread

January 26, 2017

That night, she walked beneath a scrap of moon, Venus sparkling nearby like the brightest bauble. Strange, black clouds muffled the moon, then left it naked, then covered it thinly as if it hung behind a scrim.

The crescent looked like a curved needle, and she wondered if it could sew all that was torn asunder. She wondered what sort of thread it would take to hold everything fast again.

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