I’m attached to my memories, tied to the circumstances of life. My train of thought and the chain of reactions it sparks belong to this world, inseparable from the person I’m becoming.
I get tangled in the embrace and weave its web in my mind. I constantly tie bonds, like so many ties meant to be undone one day perhaps. No matter how much I untie them, with or without reason, the knots immediately pull me back to my condition.
I made myself a prisoner, so I get endlessly tangled up. I struggle to untangle my inner self, constricted by an outside world tied tight and intermingled in chiaroscuro.
And I end up at a dead end, swept up in the hope of a brighter tomorrow, and I smile.
Like an endless ball of yarn, I go around in circles. I circle around the knots I’ve woven for myself, the ones woven around me. I tangle things up—some knots come undone, others loosen, others tighten—and I keep trying to loosen them; I just can’t seem to find the common thread.
I get tangled, untangle myself, only to get tangled all over again.
From tying and untying so much, I carry all the knots of the world.
2021, 2022