I read a book by this title once. It wasn't very good, but I still love the phrase. It sounds so poetic and sad. Have you ever come undone? Sometimes I feel like I'm coming undone at the end of every single day. Tomorrow is another drudgery of responsibilities, the panic of stress and uncertainty of whether or not you've made any progress.
I don't always feel this way, but sometimes I do, and the short, cold days of the New England fall and winter don't help.
I try to fill the need with food, but it's never quite reassuring enough. I watch TV to try to find a thrill, something uplifting or exciting that will satisfy whatever need this is. I talk to friends online until they all wander off to bed, but I'm still awake, looking, searching, waiting. Is this sadness or anxiety? I traipse through this state every so often, and have done so ever since I was a teenager. Then, my subconscious percolated on the possibility of my secret love returning my interests, while my body wilted from exhaustion.