The connections between you and I are strings.

The ends were starting to fray so I pulled them away from me, to protect myself. I don't want to see them slowly disappear, for you burn off a little more of it each day. But as I pulled more and more strings out, I notice there were only a few left.

I am now a rod, empty and bare. What protection is there?

Not doing anything about it, just standing there.
Too afraid to care.
The precise thing that causes it to wear.

But as I reflect, maybe I was the one who made all of you feel insignificant first. Afraid to reach out first. I thought that part of me was already gone.