Much of the time, when I'm stuck, the thing I'm stuck in is me.
I'm starting to suspect that's all there is for me to do this time around; just get untangled from myself.
I'm so poked through with vines, though; all snarled up with things people dropped and cried about and forgot and random feathers and whiskers and all kinds of wrappers and caps, coated in mud.
How will I ever do it? There's no way to follow the thread of me.
I just don't think I can.
Unless - if I have all the time.
If it's not a race, if I can work on it forever, then - maybe.
If I have all the time I could find a spot where I am free and let it weigh against the inside of my hand and shift it to my fingertips and slide it along. I could feel its links; also a kind of snarl but strong and calm and regular. It could almost feel like art or swimming. Like dancing slowly.
Then die, dip my hands in water, sip something through a straw, stare out at the trees with you, and back to my ensnarement. Again, and again.
I hope that's how it is, so I can feel more calm.
I hope whatever makes you feel more calm inside the tangle of your self
is also what it is.
I hope, in time, I come less caught
up, and that as I unravel from myself I can come
more and more interwoven
with you.
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