I remember how it felt
When all the pieces fit together
When I felt it couldn't be more perfect
And I could bear any weather,
And slowly, each piece was stripped away
Like a house on fire-
I watched it burn and collapse
Room by room
An inferno.
It left nothing behind
But myself, and my pride.
When it was dug out of the rubble
I glimpsed it buried from the sidewalk
The metal twisted, charred in places
But I tucked it in my pocket.
I'll keep walking down my street
(Though it isn't mine anymore)
Until I find a new town to be a part of-
Maybe a home once more.

Sand is running through my fingertips
Course on my skin, grating
As I watch it pass by, I feel it land heavy on my feet
Already buried under the weight of what I've missed.
And what I'm missing
As I'm trapped to my knees
In all my wishes and old dreams
They seem so naive
But you know what happens to the best-laid plans.

Life is made delightful by its paradoxes
And infuriating in its contradictions.

Those who find their identity in sacrifice
Treasure the moments when others offer their own.

Those who take and take
Are forever left searching for something useful to give.

Those who think of themselves as small
Play such a large part in the lives around them.

Those who are so self-important
Often have an audience full of sneaky glances towards the clock.

Those who love company
Crave for their time alone to be respected.

Those who want to be alone
Want genuine human connection.

Those who talk too little
Have so much left to say.

Those who talk too much
Often keep what is most important to themselves.

Those who take pictures
Want to truly be seen.

Those in the spotlight
Desire unbroken privacy.

Those who are trusting
Are too often trapped.

Those who seek tripwires
Spurn the unlocked doors within their grasp.

For those who give love
It is not always returned.

But those who love themselves
Untwist both halves
To find a heart left pure.

Words can always carry a message
To me, from me,
Even once the messenger is gone.
Stories and legends will always persist,
Not to judge but to inspire
Not to compare struggle, but instead to lift higher
Those few and many stuck in despair
On the shoulders of those who came before.

Because if they did it,
I can do it too.
And one day,
I'll be a story
For the next unredeemed who sits in this chair
Discouraged, alone, and tired
And tomorrow, like me,
They'll no longer be sitting there.

Spirit is present even when I don't feel it
I am present even when I can't feel anything.
The food I cook still tastes good
Even if I can't taste it.
The words I read contain great stories
No matter how much the lines are blurred by tears.
The sunset is still beautiful
Despite its evasion in every photo
And the sunrise is even more beautiful still.

Isn't there tragedy
In sacrificing yourself for other's beauty?
In stepping back from the spotlight
Because another craves it more.
They are also beautiful,
But the eyes of the audience never pass by a second time.
You find solace in capturing moments through the lens
Holding them in your hands
You stay behind the camera
Ever the watching, never the watched
Unseen until it's published
And read to the end.

Is it selfish to want to be less selfless, if only to be seen?

If you knew me well,
You would already know:
Every word has been written
In each moment with you alone.