It was like no clutter I had ever seen before
It was like no clutter that ever was before
And it was my clutter
Sometime during the night, I had shattered into so many millions of pieces
There were pieces so small that they could fit through the eye of a needle
And there were pieces so large that it staggered the mind to truly comprehend their enormity
And they were my pieces
Where did these pieces come from?
Why was this clutter here?
Would I ever feel whole again?
Had I ever felt whole to begin with?
And If I hadn't, then was this such a tragedy?
For even the greatest clutter can be organized
Even the smallest pieces put back together
But what of the pieces I couldn't find?
What would happen to them?
They would, no doubt, join the rest of the pieces I had lost along the way
Those pieces that had already joined with the throngs of pieces that we all leave behind
And what is to become of me, the man without all of his pieces
The man who is destined to clutter
Certainly there will be more lost pieces to look forward to
And undoubtedly I will wake up amidst the clutter again.
But then, isn't that what we are all destined for?
Isn't life merely the shedding of old pieces in pursuit of ones that fit better into the whole?
And isn't there a sensual gratification to be felt in cleaning of a truly epic clutter?
Today I woke up and found myself amidst a pile of clutter and pieces
It was like every other clutter that has ever existed
And they were like all the pieces that have ever been left behind
And I reveled in their beauty
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