The needle was in
even before
the dress was ready.
The softness had glanced
at the needle’s point,
sharp but beautiful,
wondering how on earth
it would feel
to be sewn together.
The needle weaved
ever seamlessly into
the fabric, binding it in.
The dress loved
what the needle did–
made everything complete
and beautiful.
Patching up all the spots
yet leaving her essence.
Once the needle finished
weaving it’s sweet melody,
there was a harsh tug
that cut the chord.
The needle was torn
away, leaving the dress
behind as it returned
to the cushion that held
all the other pins.
The dress stood
stunning but missing
the needle’s magical song.
The cushion disappeared.
Now the dress wonders
whether if another needle
will ever fix any of those
seams again or if someone
would wear her out.