Yarn

I saw this and I thought of you. It a scrabbly ball of yarn, either made of several colors or made of one and transformed over time. It's both warm and cool, if that makes sense. Not to the touch, to the touch it is soft, it's worn, it's yarn, it's feels how it's supposed to feel. It is the start of something, it is made only to be made into something more. And so, naturally, I thought of you.

It's the size of a softball, or almost. It's falling apart. I've never seen the center. It was made by someone. It has potential. I would love to bat it around like a cat. I would like to send it spiraling down a hill and see where it ends. It looks small but it might be big, I know it's bigger than it is. Somewhere it has brothers and sisters in sweaters and socks, a family spread out across who knows where. But it sits here, unused, in the palm of my hand taken from a basket filled with others just like it, filled with just as much potential, and just as much potential to be squandered.

I saw this and I thought of you and squeezed it tight. Feeling and remembering, hoping that its future could have something to do with me, shaking my head, knowing better.