By: The Hatter Theory
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Inu Yasha
A Note: Kagome's POV
Threads of fate wrap around us, tightening until they strangle and suffocate. They drag us forward into the future, uncaring of tangles or snarls. When collision is guaranteed, suffering is imminent. I have been bound more tightly than any other, a thousand wires coiling around me, tightening until I bleed. A skillful trap set by my own innocent ignorance.
The threads that spread and tie to others are the ones I have always treasured, have always maintained. Willfully, foolishly, I severed dozens without thought to the repercussions. Fraying ends are the only sign of a life left behind, of loved ones lost and sacrificed dreams. Floating aimlessly around me, reminders of a past in the future, ghosts that cling, irrevocably tangled in my present.
Perhaps it is because I have loved these threads so much, hands of memory caressing what could have beens and shattered possibilities that they are frayed. Or maybe it is time that blurs the edges until surety becomes indistinct, half imagined truth. I could be dreaming, could be surviving in those vague, spectral fantasies.
Crisscrossing lines of destiny tie me to the present, to those that tug and force me into waking and away from dreams. Chimeric vagaries fade in the light of the sun, lurking in shadows as a hundred other threads are seized and pulled. Duty calls, and I contort, each thread shuddering impatiently, awaiting my attentions. These threads too are frayed, but from carelessness and ignorance. They are pulled too hard and my heart and mind resist the paths I am forced upon.
Selfishly, I sometimes resent them. Sinful incomprehension and benighted recklessness trapped me, bound me. And they are my own failing. One simple choice made in the blink of an eye was enough to welcome these threads, allowing them to wrap and sink into me, to create veins of purpose and duty.
I am led, step by step, deeper into a tangle of obligation and province.
Providence and it's incumbents pull, demand and dominate, careless of how distorted I become in my contortions to move as is willed. These threads are born with grace, with the sort of placid blandness that half smiles hide. They are tolerable, each bringing it's own small compensation.
But there is one thread that sinks into my flesh more deeply, curls and coils around my heart until it is indistinguishable from it. It is a silken cord ensnaring and entangling. Beguiling in it's beauty, I did not see it's strength, nor the precarious risk it posed. Even now it is caressed lovingly, if fearfully. Perhaps the most treasured of each link to this life, it is also the most hated, almost despised. Confliction only became possible when I allowed it access in another moment of blithe rashness.
Rarely pulled, when it is I am helpless to fight. Leading me from the dust and sweat of habitual order and repetitious banality, I follow it along the path of keen yearning in hopes of silent promises for fulfillment. Your hands, graceful in their movements, pull and demand, ignorant of what it is you provoke. With each motion the thread becomes more gnarled and twisted and it is my dearest hope that you remain blind to the vinculum it has become.
What threads tangled to pull me to you, you to me, again and again?