Barely visible but ever present, this tiny little snag popping up in just such a way, that every time you're doing something else, it suddenly catches the corner of your eye out of nowhere. Or you're going about your day doing just great, when you brush against it by accident and feel it right there when you'd finally almost forgotten it existed. So then you start touching it, and picking at it, and flicking it, and rubbing it over and over until you've nearly worn it through. You obsess over it. You can't help yourself. Because it's familiar and has always been a part of you. The temptation to tug on it and destroy everything when it would be so much easier to just leave it be. The constant ebbing and flowing between it meaning everything, but somehow also meaning absolutely nothing at all. You're cushioned and soft and falling into place, but that tiny little snag is right there, begging for you to yank on it and tear your entire world apart.
