and if i write more will this line increase? to what degree will such a perpetual mystery continue to mesmerize me, i do not know. but for now, all i can be sure of is that this thin line, one that winds past dusty roads and forgotten memories, is one that no one, including myself, is ever to forget. why, some may ask? the answer is always extremely simple, a silencing answer enough to satisfy even the most curious and naive of souls. this pool of thread, one that winds past our darkest secrets, it's the pool of our life. these lost thoughts and long-neglected dreams of ours are what continues this thread, the line of our life, so delicate yet so compelling; quite a herculean task for any soul to uptake. yet, here we are. with no meaning in life but to fufill it, to be able to have as long of a piece of thread as possible, until a whisper of fate cuts it short.