Mid-Morning Sweater Sewing

Beautifully scripted words are woven together when you feel the most dispiriting, stitching them together while your heart rips at the seams. They’re written at two in the morning and your unseemly insecurities are used as threading. It’s almost sick, as a society we find those wistful words enjoyable to read. Seeking pleasure from descriptions of pain, the broken ones are sources to which we’re entertained. That’s a little twisted, don’t you think?

Finding pleasure in exploring the ink from her pen, the words she wrote to keep from un-stitching the seams of a body she felt  [ trapped ]  within. It was as if she believed those words would intertwine and construct one with fabric more fitting, armor she was meant to be in. That desperation could be felt in her teeming stanzas, the sentences she entrancingly structured at two in the morning, while choking back tears. It’s poetry spewing from the mind of an artist who’s most beautiful stories were told at her darkest, when those words were all she possessed. Why do we seek phrases which only invoke despondency, shouldn't we avoid those feelings?

Maybe you’re simply clinging to the stitching of words which embroider a sweater identical to yours.

Maybe we’re just finding pleasure in relating, in living vicariously through the mind capable of describing our feelings, the ones we can't yet. Maybe reading and relating helps you to feel less alone. It's nice to know you're not the only one suffering, that someone wears the same sweater you’re wearing and neither of you have pulled it off yet. It's almost four in the morning, I don't know who I am and I'm overwhelmed by this emptiness. So here I sit-- sewing again.