There used to be a hole.
The edges with threads coming loose.
And you could see that little patch of skin.
With a little time and love,
There now are threads holding the corners together.
Carefully stitched but carelessly shown.
Like patchwork art over the lonely hole. Like scars over old wounds. Like bruises on smooth skin. Like tattoos painted on bones. Like thoughts buried at the back of my mind.
Hiding old memories and emotions,
But displaying them for all the world to see.
Just like the hole in the sleeve.
Here to stay.