Threads

The story of you was woven carefully
the Fates with their patient hands
laying colour beside colour,
pattern beside pattern,
as though your life were a tapestry
meant to be read in full.

But you only ever saw the incompletion.
The spinning weighed heavy on your heart;
every thread felt like a prophecy of sorrow,
of how far you still had to go.
The strings told tales of tragedy
long before the picture was finished.

You couldn’t see the whole design,
the way the colours were beginning to soften,
the way the shapes were learning to bloom

So you reached for the thread yourself
stole it from the Fates’ quiet hands
and took their scissors as your own

and with one decisive cut,
your thread fell away from the loom.
And instead of waiting
for the pattern to change,
you burned the whole page,
sent your own fate up in flames
before the story ever could complete itself.

I will always see the beauty in the picture
I always did.
The unfinished art,
the half‑formed tales,
the gentle beginnings of a life
that might have grown whole.

But I wish I knew
the completion of the piece.
I wish I could have seen
what you never stayed long enough
to finish and allow to breathe.

[Unreachable beauty : r/OCPoetry](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uorua1/comment/ovybtx5/?context=3)

[HATE : r/OCPoetry](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1up4v55/comment/ovyda5n/?context=3)