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My life is no puzzle
It is a tapastry intricately bound
With the finest threads of different colors and consistancies
To make a beautiful whole.
I weaved it with my blood and sweat and sorrows
And laughter and longing and love
And dreams and hopes and pain.
Some threads need to be cut now and then.
But what is this one?
A piece of transparent silk I thought I had cut long ago!
This thread has a life of its own and refuses to bow to my own call
of destiny and free will.
What sneaky immoral witch aided it to sneak into the knoted parts of the fabric?
I would like to cut it out
But cannot without cutting the knots, without burning the little bits and pieces it has brilliantly attached itself too.
Oh, sneaky, obstinate piece of thread.
How I despise you!