Threaded

We were never named

by title or role.

No vows.

No claim.

But something older than speech

wove us together.

Not chosen..

remembered.

Not held..

known.

The connection doesn’t ask

to be explained.

It simply exists

in the breath between thoughts,

in the quiet weight that settles

when presence meets presence.

It is not love in the usual sense.

Not kin by name or document.

But we are threaded..

through a shared pattern

written in the fibers of being.

No ceremony called it forward.

No voice announced it.

Still, it lived...

in the hush of the wind,

in the silence that didn’t feel empty

but full.

I’ve tried to trace it.

Failed.

I’ve tried to forget it.

Couldn’t.

It’s not a tether.

It’s not a chain.

It is a current.

An understanding.

A recognition

that somewhere deep in the making of things,

we are connected.

And if distance holds us apart,

or time pulls us separate..

still, the thread remains.

Not to bind.

But to witness.

To remember.

To keep.