Where the line is crossed

There is a fine line

It’s thin and delicate like a cross

There are holes

Like in everything there are holes

When we see these

Fine lines should we cross

Or should we pull harder

Tie it off

Or break it apart

In these fine lines

Where do we cross?

Do we stay?

Do we go?

How can we see?

How can we be?

In our fine lines filled with holes

Who are we?