It's a thought. Or a series of thoughts.
It's the overwhelming desire to purge an image from my head, one that will not leave me. It's also the desire to create those stubborn thoughts in the first place.
It's the worst case scenario. It's the impossible. It's the most feared.
It's looking for signs, patterns and meanings.
It's the pursuit of an escape.
It's running to stand still. It's the Red Queen's Race.
It's love-hate. Stop-go. Action-stasis.
It's complication, simplification.
I sit here each day and unthread the sweater, magnify the droplet, and blur the world. I look up from a microscopic speck only to watch the room shift out of focus - to shift out of meaning - to jiggle away from me.
The more I think, the further I feel.
