When we see- with our eyes and our minds, the fabric with
which a person is made, sometimes the texture deceives us. We don’t believe it
could be possible not to like the texture before us. The familiar feel of that
piece of cloth that we think we know so well; that we understand combinations and
recognize the finer embroidery of.
Nothing can sweeten the bitter taste in our minds, when we realize
we are so utterly and irreversibly wrong.
For this is how we all are.
We are of a certain weave. How strong or how weak the threads depend on
the creation of the cloth. Sometimes the weave is so transparent, so very
simple, and other times, it is thick and opaque. Some look fine, but wear
easily. Others look shabby and rough, but are full of strength.
And no matter what size, shape or colour we are, we have our
holes. Sooner or later, we are all left threadbare. Painstakingly, we begin to sew
ourselves back together. We weave our own thread. And when we look back, these seem
like the most colourful patches.
What is the fabric of your being?
1 Whispers in the wind:
interesting and thought-provoking.. I suppose we are made up of different fabrics, in a way, all inter-woven.
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