The Almost-Blanket

I’m making a blanket.
a beautiful piece of work, it’s taken me almost three years.

every single stitch has a memory, an emotion, a thought.
the colours range from every part of the spectrum and they pull together to create a unique pattern.

my hands are weary from the journey, but I pay my fingers no mind, the outcome is worth it.
I don’t have long to go, soon I will have a blanket I can have for many years to come.

the fibres are soft to the touch and create warmth on my skin, our fairytale woven into the design.

I’m troubled. I’ve run out of yarn.

this yarn cannot be found anywhere else, I’m lucky to come by it at all.
for this yarn was made for me in this time and in this time only.

and so I decide, it is better to keep the almost-blanket, than to unpick the stitches.

because unpicking the stitches would mean picking apart pieces of myself.
and I don’t know myself without this almost-blanket, it’s been too long in my possession.

so I will gaze upon it’s beauty from afar, wishing and wondering about what it could have been, if only I’d woven the stitches right.