Strands of fiber so tightly woven,
into one beautiful garment.
Beautiful craftsmanship in ivory and gold,
scientifically solid but flows like a liquid
and is as light as air.
Then the strands a pulled apart,
in an act of unthinking violence,
each strand which held its friends close,
was separated from them, for an inch of cloth.
The inch of garment was now damaged,
torn, ripped. The garment had a gash.
Then a needle with a thread for company
danced around the tear,
with the grace of a ballerina,
and introduced new strands,
to hold the friends together again.
Yet, that inch of cloth will forever be scarred,
a memory of separation, a memory of pain.

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