Made Of The Same Cloth

Slow and gentle tear in our fabric
Runs from edge to core
Torn from side to side
One made two, together no more
In the moments after parting
Frayed seams reaching out
The two still fit perfectly
A match, a marriage, doubt
We are made of the same cloth
Should two halves not make a whole?
Why separate? Why not mend?
In tearing what was the goal?

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