It is both a curse and a blessing to feel things so deeply.
To take on the gravity of a burden or the flight of a fancy.
Both within herself and from those she cares for, as they live around her.
For her, human connection is a bond slowly solidified, crafted by hands that are tender.
Once the cloth is woven, the stitches are strong, able to withstand so much tension.
That is why when one thread snaps or weakens, her life-cloth feels it through infinite connection.
Even stronger are the stitches sewing her own heart, her own mind.
A simple emotion is never felt alone, but compounded with many, each one of a kind.
The combine in the melting pot of her soul as they blend together to make a feeling.
If you were to dip into the pot you would not find the bottom, as it is forever unreeling.
Once the blend has transfused, she takes it and splashes the feeling on the walls where her hearth burns.
So vast is the room, so abundant is the mix, this is why she feels--so big--as she learns.
The mix never fades from the walls, but simply builds upon the previous paint.
The pictures made on the walls of the hearth room are burned into place by the fire--never faint.
Some of the images, some of the brew, is so complex she can only feel and she cannot say.
No matter how fiercely she wants to share that room, quiet she will stay.
For how can she voice how she feels when there is so much of it?
How can she show that each emotion is real, alive, old, young--in one voice, that's it?
Yes she feels so greatly both her own and theirs, but few believe she is capable of response.
Few can look at her life-cloth and see the fine thread, its purpose, its renaissance.
Perhaps this is why it is woven so slowly--she knows colors worth weaving will not be dyed in her blood.
Only after she commits to the color will she sweat and bleed for it, anything to keep it from the mud.
Yes she feels so infinitely and few will ever see this.
But inside she will never change the way the feelings blend as her flames hiss.