Too many secrets, the revealing of which, like undoing a knot in a web of deceits, will only further complicate an already-burdened mind and unravel this ball of yarn of which is deemed so pristine when regarded through the looking glass.

Too many nuances in this heart that will never be comprehended, none of its myriad shades of gray will be translated by eyes belonging to those who want to see only in black and white.

Too much is lost as the words—how carefully chosen, their usage the result of decisions so painfully labored—fail to mean what I intend to say, read by too many pair of eyes without the benefit of clarity or objectivity.

Full circle. Vicious cycle. These pages will never be the same.

The web, a sum of all the parts that make you and I. My life, a thread in that web still being spun. My heart, a knot on that thread.

And I. Am I, ultimately, not both a knot that binds and a knot that yearns to be undone?