A thought is a thread. With a beginning and an end.
But it never exists alone. It’s tangled with others.
Each leads to many. Each can be reached from many. It’s a never-ending chain.
Together they form a fabric.
Maybe a shirt.
To finish a piece of writing, I have to isolate one clump of connected thoughts.
Like ripping a pocket out of that shirt.
Threads hanging loose. Looking ugly.
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