The bow hair I can't bring myself to rehair

It's been fraying for months now — not breaking, just unraveling strand by strand, and every time I pick up the bow I notice one more tuft has given up. I keep telling myself I'll take it to the luthier on Monday, but it's become something of a conversation, this bow and me. I admire the way it decays gracefully, like an old friendship that's still holding on out of habit. Maybe that's the real reason I haven't let go of it — I'm not finished learning what it has to say.