Do we know we are mystery to those that love us, do we understand the layers yet to uncover, the threads that lead to knots that lead to others beyond? We are balls of twine and muscle, sinew and thread, blood and yarn, we coil around ourselves, we wrap tighter when we are pulled. Someone will come, they always come I am here to tell you this truth, someone will walk in with nimble fingers and patience for the dissecting of knot and snarl. Mystery, they will name us, unknowable thing worth investigation and study. Us, we will say, truly us? You, they will say, always you, and they will set themselves to unravelling.
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