The thread of recovery is entangled with the past.

The path it plots is like an unbounded labyrinth, coiled and unpredictable, its navigator travelling with no compass or handbook.

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It twists back on itself when I expect it to keep weaving forward, and nobody can teach where or how the knot will tangle.

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But like an Indian rope trick, it finds its way out of the pit, rising a little at a time.