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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