Things for mending...

Phone call after phone call.
2 am text messages of regret and anger.
I am passive. I try and try to mend us.
The seams are worn completely.
The tears cannot be fixed.
Patches fall off.
I iron, stitch, surge, and sew until my hands are raw and bleed.
My love I cannot fix it if you keep moving.
I do not mean to prick you with the pins...
I cannot focus over all of the yelling and tears.
I will always want to fix you.
I will always want to fix us.
I will always want...
Always. Always. Always.
Alas my machine has rusted.
The spool has run dry of that thread that I stitched every moment we had together.
The needles are broken and dull.
There are no more thimbles to protect my bare naked skin...
My hands are callused and strong from the mending...
But let me remind you, needles and pins still draw blood.
They still leave these scars of apologies and unquenched redemption.
These hands are worn and tired...
These hands will still love you...
These hands will always catch you...
These hands will always attempt to fix your restless body...
Always. Always. Always.