lost meaning in creation

...down a hole, she crept. into the crevice, she hid, and behind a rose colored pane, she disappeared...

human beings spend so much time creating themselves. every stitch placed just so, every color so distinct that none other like it could ever exist. but what happens when you become so [un]wrapped with fabric, and colors, and threads, and needles, that you loose the pattern? you climb through the sheets, desperately trying to regain structure, to remember why this shade of purple exists, why its complementary color is stitched through the heart, where the patterns break and begin.. reanalyzing. restructuring. regaining. redefining. the mind begins to rewrite explanations of why certain edges are rough, and why many stitches are out of place. eventually one knows not who they are, nor what they’ve created. anxiety haunts every action, hesitation marks every word spoken, and tears color every pillow. how can one believe they regret nothing, yet also feel as if everything went wrong? the yearning for a new beginning, a new chance...change.

“my life begins tomorrow” is a dangerous statement that is too often believed.