Your world, a neat compact sphere of wool, rolling through this meaningless void. Gathering more and more material, making it denser. Each tightly woven piece of fabric, interlacing and constricting the form. A ball of pure habitual behavior.

Years and decades of gravity, hardening the core. Making it almost impossible to penetrate. Then one day, someone comes along and begins to pull on a single strand of cotton. Thus begins the deconstruction, and thus begins the softening. A small tug, a loose strand to grab. Each day, the strand grows larger, slowly pulling layer upon layer. The density softening, and the ball becoming smaller. 

The core becoming more accessible. Years of this, the yarn is now splayed across the floor like a dog that just ate a pillow. Everything everywhere, weak and vulnerable, naked like a newborn. This is love. To strip the layers of your habitual life, and reform to a new ball of yarn. One that entangles with another, forming a new combined core, a stronger core.

For now, you can attack the void with the density of two spheres of wool.  One must always be willing to give up a strand of fabric, one must be willing to allow the core to be dismantled. All you need is a tug.