Thread of a Text Message.

Walking down a random street in Paris, my phone chimes with a text message.

A Random Street in Paris.

I look down at the message: "I think I want you back." he says.
"I think I want you to go to hell." I think back, but don't text in return as I hit the delete key.

Rhianna's duet lyrics of 'I Love the Way You Lie' play through my mind:

("You don't get another chance. Life is no Nintendo game.")

Still the thought of being with him again, pulls on my strength like a loose thread unraveling a hole in a favorite sweater. The strength to never call, never text, never think of him again, weakens with one message from him.

I blog and write to pull it all together with matching thread to close the hole; now almost unnoticeable to the naked eye. Almost never seen, like a deleted text message.