The threads for this yarn
When this story gets told in some book where all the threads that reach the present are twined into a rope with some pulling power, you can only wonder what it would be used to moor to the docks of history.
Many narratives exist where it all seemed to be at a dead-end, hope appeared to be lost and there was nothing in the horizon but the darkest clouds of storms that have never once before been predicted.
Somewhere in the past the seeds were sown that have become wild orchards of poisonous fruit harvested to ills that do not take to medication, the cramps being more persistent, the pain without respite and end unimaginable approaches at speed too high to manage as one.
The losses accumulate
A day so close looms with the risk of losing everything but life and a slither of hope that the rebuilding from scratch would be merciful, swift and tolerable.
Whether one likes it or not, the survival of something as life threatening as cancer when it was a battle that could be lost in a month to almost two years after suddenly seems as one of the little battles raging to claim ones sanity and many other things.
There are basically no solutions that appear to be in sight, sometimes you just want to pack a bag and walk away from life leaving behind memories of the many lives of cat lost with probably just one or two lives left.
The house that Jack lost
Looking around you remember the old nursery rhyme; “This is the house that Jack built” with everything you can see of what is in the house that Jack built and then because of so many things, situations, circumstances, hardships and probably a run of not so good fortune, you wonder if the next day will end with; “This is the house that Jack lost.”
For all the external calm, the turmoil is great and tumultuous; sometimes you happen to live and at other times life just happens to you.
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