Ideas come to me like tiny scraps of colourful thread that turn up in the strangest places.
Sometimes they cling to me as though they belong to me…
Sometimes I find them lying around where I live, as though they were just waiting for me to discover their existence…
But do they belong to me, truly?
Just like bits of thread, one does not always know whether they were once part of someone else’s material or one’s own. Or maybe there’s a large supply hiding away somewhere, that can be used for something entirely new.
And what purpose do they serve anyway? They’re only scraps, destined for the rubbish bin.
Or are they?