Life is just fragments.
A series of events,
emotions,
people,
held together by the slender threads of our mind to create a narrative that seems to make sense
only to us.
But sometimes it does not.
There is no story,
just fragments.
Errant thoughts existing in space,
floating without tethers.
Tales told with no ending.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem