Compass my direction for I cannot find my path. Show me the way to the beginning let me come full circle; the end is not what I had hoped.
When it began I was a believer, unquestioning, full of hope that our stories would be stronger entwined. For a while it seemed they would be but the fibres of our twine were not strong enough to rope together. Yours were splintered dry coconut coir while mine were lanolin-rich wool. What kind of rope could we tease from that matt of textures?
The mesh never quite came together. The combination causing rucks and gaps where important things fell through, no more useful than a mosquito net with holes. Rumour. Doubt. Blame. Lies. The holes got bigger . You cannot mend the net with carlesness so love fell away like fish, scale after scale to reveal a new truth: life was sieved; sorted but separate.
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