Blanket of our Life

What is there to say? How can i go on like this? Knowing it all to be a lie? Wanting passion and plesure, love and laughter, happiness and hope. Wanting what you can never have, having what you never wanted. Patterns of happiness weaved into the blanket we call life. Ocasionaly running into a rip, but the blanked goes on. Rips from love, and rips from pain, and rips from guilt. My blanket, rips and all, was still weaved by my sore hands. And no-matter the rip, there is always someone there to mend it.