She could hear the loudest sound of the breaking of the needle through a fabric of denim cloth, trying to patch up and stitch the split of the textile that shows a part of her skin with scars of fears and longing. She could feel the pinch of pain, undulated by its sharpness and the drop of blood from her fingertips that mixed into the tears dried up through the years of trying hard to make things right again.
She could see the broken strands of the thread like her broken dreams lying asleep into the corner, waiting to be found and awaken.
After a long while, she then picked up all of the stitching tools, wiped away the red liquid, set aside the busted needle.
Well then, for sure, there will come a time she will patch things up again.
She just need to put her feet up. She just need to hear the loudest sound through the silence of oblivion.