The threads glimmer tying us together little golden filaments reaching out reaching in they tangle for we are nothing more than dogs on leashes running skipping in circles sometimes they knot for better for worse in sickness and in health sometimes they knot but we don't notice until it is cut our end flying free but still held down with that little bit left entwined bleeding gold sometimes the threads become matted ugly snarls but we think nothing of them because what is a snarl to someone who's never seen a bow?