Sometimes my world gethers itself up, and creates the most beautiful moments. It pulls at the strings of things and makes miracles happen, and I get to walk a gilded path of golden light.
And other times, those strings that are gathered are then pulled apart, unweaving the tapestry and jumbling all the precious moments together and casting them to the wind. Things that were once solid as stone are now flimsy as damp paper.
Someday, I swear to myself, there will be nore more gathering, no more strange and mystical miracles. And there will be no loose ends, no whispy temptations of fate to unbind. Someday my world will be soft and flat and...
And then I realize. What kind of life is that? Sometimes the adventure is in finding the ways to gather up the bits of light you can find to make a path. Sometimes the adventure is in the risk of loose strings and catching the satin fabric of life on your rought hands. So one thing falls apart an a rush of confusion and chaos. Another mirale will surely gather. Another miracle will be born of that chaotic construction.
Burn Burn. And fear not the flames of rebirth.
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