“I picked at one of the buttons on my vest until the thread unraveled and it fell into my palm. Memo to self- buy a sewing kit to stitch my life back together.”

“I've had to guess at her, sewing her skin together as I sew mine, though with a different stitch”

“The union of their shared lives could be a masterpiece, even if the colors of one piece clashed with another, even if uneven stitches showed, even if, from time to time, they had to pick out seams, realign the pieces, and sew them back together again. It would not be perfect, but it could be beautiful, if they worked together and persevered.”

“I wanted to pull the thread, unravel the scarf of my silence and start again from the beginning.”

“She could feel her mind pulling loose like knitting, the neat stitches of her artificial days unravelling to become one mangled thread.”

“I used to think I sewed us together at the edges with my own hands, pulled the stitches tight and I could unpick them any time I wanted. Now I think it always ran deeper than that and farther, underground; out of sight and way beyond my control.”