I’ve reached the end of me. A frayed sleeve at the end of a sweater trying to cover everything that’s being given to me by the world. It’s a lot right now. I’m pulling loose threads to extend my area. But, this just makes the fabric thinner and thinner. And I can’t tell if the world that is giving to me wants to be seen or not. As it slowly grows.

Is who I am the sweater that holds all together? Or am I the all that’s being held together?

When I think of being the sweater, I seem to all of a sudden have an end.

When I think about being the all, I am infinite.

Why am I thinking in sweater? Maybe the materialistic gains I’ve been accumulating in correlation with the world giving to me have banded together and falsely stated that they are the reason for all. I don’t do anything for the material. I’ver never cared about what I have. But, this world that’s been slowly adding to the body I cover can reward greatly in that area. It’s natural to feel swayed by a new pulse.

But, I’ve never been the sweater. I’ve always been the all.

My coverage has always been infinite. These new additions to my body aren’t new additions at all. But rather, limbs I’ve had that I haven’t been able to see until now.

I need to stop thinking in sweater.

The plant doesn’t think in protective fence. It thinks in sun and water. And grows until it doesn’t.

My sun and water is love.

I am love incarnate.

And my reach is infinite.

I’m naked now, omg XD

Writing is powerful, it just unclothed the shit outta me.