The machine coughs and rumbles as the threads weave in and out and produce sheets of cloth. Some threads are grassy green. They make the eye happy and produce a smile on the cheek. Some threads are black. They pull you into them. To get lost in. A fear of losing oneself in them. You keep away from the black and edge closer to the green. The machine buzzes in your head, never ceasing to rest. The weaving. Colours meet and blend and unite to form one fabric. Who knew that the fabric married so many components?
Friendship is fabric.
You never know what goes in where, what is being weaved into it and what the final spread will look like. Sometimes, the black is more and the friend becomes a near foe. Dark condemnation. You writhe in hatred and the demons inside your brain scream in rage. You want to harm and hurt and lash out with your sickle to tear the flesh out of existence, and throw the scraps to the coyotes.
The machine wriggles. Weaves.
Sometimes, there's green and more green. Love. Understanding. Comfort. Security. Trust. You smile at the thought of your friend. You want to give so much. Dance, sing, hop, jiggle. When you meet, you know you're home.
The machine decides - friend or foe.
When the cloth changes colour from black to green or green to black, the cloth cannot decide. No one can find the answers in a magical orb. They don't exist, these answers.
Stronger the friendship, more powerful the hatred.
Stronger the hatred, more powerful the friendship.
To friends lost and friends gained.....