Wet Thread

You assembled me with great care and patience like a ship in a bottle. You made me a fine coat with matching pants with pockets like yours. The only difference was that I was not in mine. Sometimes, you would take me out and talk to me, and though you did not wait for me to respond, you knew I was listening and that I truly cared as you did with me. The others said I could not be your friend. I didn’t know what a friend was, but I hoped they were wrong. That night, you cried. You used me to wipe your tears, but I did not mind because they were warm, and they were yours. I could not cry. I wondered what it was like. I wondered if I could not be your friend because I could not cry.