... The pain is growing. It is starting to break. Still a lot to go…

“My decision is fateful,” say the old threads.
“My decision is fateful,” say the wound yarns.
“No, my decision is fateful,” say the dyed yarns in the pot.
“My decision is fateful,” say the drying threads.
“My decision is fateful,” say the unwound yarns.
“Unfortunately, my decision is fateful,” say the single threads.
“After all, my decision is fateful,” say the knots connecting the threads.
“My decision is fateful,” says the yarn winder.
“Poof, my decision is fateful,” says the knitting machine.
“I am the fateful decision,” says the growing knit.
“I am the victim of the decision,” the spine sighs and impales itself, failing to pierce the navel.

* Time laughs quietly at the ambition *