weaving

It takes a million years

and a million threads

to weave the person

that stands here today

filled to the brim

with memories, dreams, love, despair

each thread is a story in the making

none of which has their end

they tie themselves in knots

on which you choke as you walk

don’t try to speak

for they won’t understand

sit on a park bench,

read, watch people walk

ice cream cones in their hands

dogs on leash

what are the threads that they weave?

stop and ask them

but don’t try to understand

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