Like a lone thread on the hem of your ironed shirt
Like the stubborn lint on your otherwise perfect coat
Like the scruffy smudge on your newly polished black shoe
Like the slight scratch on the glass of your vintage watch.
Until you decide to pull that last bit of thread
Until you brush off that remaining ball of lint
Until you finally replace your scruffed shoes
Until you have the glass on your watch buffed like new
Only then will I believe that we are through.