Love, as it once was, a sweater—soft, whole, woven with the threads of love and light. Every stitch held warmth, every fold carried the comfort of belonging. But time frayed the fabric. Maimed and marred it to threads. Joy unraveled into silence, silence into ache, and now it hangs fragile, a ghost of what it once was. Each poem is a strand pulled loose—until what remains is a tapestry of love remembered, grief endured, and rage smoldering in the torn edges. A collection on the perilous verge of breaking, yet beautiful in its unraveling.
