Woven together on what ifs and what could have been of the beds slept in by our parents.
I see myself weaving a carpet. It's my carpet not meant for the world to see. It's full of objections and controversy.
It's full of truths I use to define the outline.
The stitches are the lies I tell myself to hold everything together.
Can a strong durable carpet have both?
Maybe this is a contradiction.
But, it's my contradiction.
No one has to see it.
No one else has to weave it.
No one even has to walk on it because at the end of the day it's there to guide my path.
Your path my be laid in something more permanent like asphalt, brick, or even cement.
I like to keep my options open.
Something more malleable.
It's up to me to build my path no one before me, no one beside me.
That's not the way it's meant to be. It's arduous. It's lonely.
Sometimes it's even crippling, but I persevere for it is my path and my path alone.
This is my impulse, and no one else's.