Pretty

It's kind of like your scarf,
Caught in the car door.
Dragging along the road,
Begging for you to notice.
Travelling at a speed,
Unraveling the stitching.
Perfectly patterned,
Now dulling and grey.
And nobody knows,
The damage we don't see.
If only we could stop,
Lift It out of the dirt.
A little part broken forever,
Ripped and frayed.
And maybe you won't wear it again,
It's ruined.
Or maybe you will...
And just hope nobody notices.

Author's Note

Late night scribbles! Let me know what you think ;)