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Oct 2020
Strings interwoven
Surrounding me
Spacious yet brushing
Against my torso and thighs
Suspended on spun strands years old
I can only
Gently glide my finger tips
Along strings floating by
I cannot hate
Only hurt
An unconditional detachment towards
The way they surround me
I am careful not to cut the intricate plaits, even if I have subconsciously done and continue to do so
For a cut in the lines that hold together
My reality are delicate,
Best understood when each small length is given its value and attention
But I worry;
If my world is strung
Then a lifetime may not be enough
To untwist each weave
To its barest of selfs
And then twist together
A new piece that surrounds me
Warmly and peacefully
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