Unraveling the Knot of Knowledge

I was certain. I was sure. I knew what I knew— until I didn’t. A thread pulled, a question I never meant to ask, a whisper splitting at the seams. The more I learn, the less I know. The less I know, the more I understand. I trace the edges of truth, only to find them fraying. I tighten the knot. I loosen the knot. I untangle it. I make it worse. I follow the thread back to the beginning— but the beginning isn’t there. The fibers unravel between my fingers, silk turning to dust, logic thinning like stretched cloth. I tell myself it makes sense. I tell myself it doesn’t. Both things are true. Neither is. I pull again. The thread coils, writhes, tightens around my wrists— or maybe those aren’t my wrists. If I keep pulling, will anything be left of me at all?