Gold thread- Reweaving

Silence inhabits me as I try to piece this together. I'm weaving and my fingers are growing numb.
I can no longer take this world I've endured for a while, waking up everyday knowing I might feel nothing all day.
And then you came.
Sparks of life and the real person underneath began to emerge...it was cozy. It was comfortable, I even began to weave again.
I brought out my gold thread and wove your story in till it became too heavy to hold, too rough to  handle. I'm still breaking, and so are you.
Into beautiful.
Your thread is tangled up, sticky and lying in a mess on the ground- or so you show it. Picking at it will take time, I long to join you and pick at it too
But my fingers get sticky, I forget why we're picking and instead of detangling, I'm tangling. I go back to my thread and I'm confused.
And yet you have to detangle. Gold thread.
--
I realise you're beautiful, charming and quite easy to get along with. My ember is fading though, I don't blame you, it's me, for letting this go on for too long.
Sometimes you realise you have to create distance from those you've surrounded yourself with-in order to breathe. I need to breathe.
Selfish as it may sound, it's gotten to the point where I've realised I've gotten too comfortable with unreal. I've lost bits of me in your wheel, and I need to regain them.
I can't cut you off entirely, but from the parts that matter. Reweaving you is not my life's goal, it never was. Challenge definitely not accepted. I must let you be, while I let me be. That way, we both can breathe. I must begin to reweave, I got the pattern wrong before, time for a re-do.