No Strings Attached.

Always the victim, you sit, and accuse, watching and working situations from afar.

I go about my day, sewing little strings onto your seat, ensuring my everything to you, in hopes it will stop.

I'd like to think of a sea, just beyond my sight. Maybe even a field of flowers.

I will never know for sure. For if I stray too far, the strings will break. And I will not be able to take another step. I shall turn to stone.

Forever yours.

If I make it to the sea, I will jump. I'm sure of it.