A needle pulling thread; “pull it over itself,” “See the ‘X’?”
Pierce the perforated white
Pull it through, form the-
A wonky ‘W’ shape manifests in the firelight.

But I’ll get it someday, when I find the patience to.
A simple stick-figure becomes a pixel-art drop of dew

Becomes a vibrant landscape.
A world of thread and crosses.
A world my own, a world that doesn’t need to be perfect to escape
From a fog-world of phantasm.