Thread.

Simply thread. That's what these two weeks have been. I have been the maker in search of thread. I don't want my silly thin cotton thread anymore I want a thread that will last.

You break so easy, I relish to think what it would be like if I had a thread that would stay strong, not have to be re-spun. I don't want a thread that is forever weaving itself through tiny effort-some holes then detaches oneself, once again. I want strength and durability. I want continuity because without it like a badly sewn dress I will fall apart as breath filters through my lungs.

I haven't found my correct thread and as the days diminish this has upset me greatly . I found some cello-tape, a clear acetate reflection trying to hold onto the fabric that is me, but I see through you straight away. I realised that I still have some glue left in my glue gun, an old becoming a new which has still to be used up; but I have not found my thread. I have a poly-cotton that refuses to work with me when all i want is to work with you, I once thought it would do, we matched perfect being my thread for an acquired fabric. This mesh together seems to be disastrous I'd rather you spin me in circles and loop through holes then break apart entirely, I wanted you.

So alas the thread was just a plain 1 that didn't do what I needed of it once again, I know I can get better.