Puzzling

I think of all the ways in which things connect - the past, the present, all the little ironies between circumstance and expectation. How could we have known it would be this way, even as we knew all along? Despite all the possibilities, this is the only way it could be.

My ankle hurts for a reason, a rebel against the runes that mark it for some cause, however obscure. What does it all mean, the seven of cups and the eyes I draw and the way I can't stop thinking about him, however much I long to? There are answers, but they require more puzzle pieces than I can hold at once. They connect in small ways I can't yet see, am yet incapable of consciously perceiving. (So much of substance lays beneath the surface.)

I want to figure things out, think it through and find the answers. (I am almost certain of the plural.) Perhaps that is the problem. Too much information overwhelms. Draw a line at the end of the sentence - start from there. But I've long since lost track of where the paragraph breaks. (An excuse - as long as I start somewhere, the pieces will click into place.)

I always said that I had little use for a prince, but a knight in well-worn armor was dandy in my view. This one certainly has a sword, but can I call him a knight? Chivalry is dead in him, that's for sure. He validates my cynicism at every turn and I want to be surprised, I am astonished to learn. Title him "THE" and all the girls know whom you mean. I pray this fascination with him is merely ennui.

Perhaps if I ask about the past, there will be a reply. Perhaps not an answer - nothing so satisfying as that - but maybe a clue, another puzzle piece. (It probably won't fit.) But it would be something - a key that could maybe make the latch click (locking or unlocking, I'm not sure).

But everything means something; everything connects. My ankle is still hurting and I still can't stop thinking about him and that question still rings away. Do you know what I dream about? (I can't quite remember....)