It’s a thread, and it weaves in and out and about and around and under, crossing itself, braiding itself into loops in its loops into their loops. It makes itself into a wonderful patchwork quilt that binds itself into something infinitely beautiful when it’s finished.
Eventually, all things make sense. It just ‘is’, without needing an explanation, without trying so hard to be. Eventually all things make sense that continues on to things that will also eventually make sense.
I hope to lose myself for good. I hope to find it in the end, not in me.
And then all things follow through. Like inevitability.