He found an in- a little crack in the door and seeped by, unnoticed. I was busy with mirrors and gifts as he began to weave. Threads so dainty and thin, gently, loose at first, tying me to thoughts and things. As the sun rose higher, my movements felt limited and I realized what had become in moments of carelessness. Panic. Fear. I try and untangle the lines but find more and more, I desperately call out, and hear echoes and echoes. 

Im sorry Im sorry.