Oct 2016
Yesterday you came to my door, took the blade from my shaking hands and closed the wine I had been drowning in.
You held me and cried with me and for an eternity we made no sounds at all because there were no words that could fix me. Your words were the first to cut through the quiet. "You are so good," you said. You are so good. You are so good. I let the words bounce around in my soul and tried to hold on to them but they felt to heavy to contain. We said nothing else and you kept your arms wrapped around me until the sun was peeking over the darkest night and heavy eyes gave in to sleep.
We woke up and you cleaned me up and tried to sweep up all my broken pieces, still knowing that no one else but me would be able to recreate the shattered glass puzzle. You sealed the sharp jagged edges and shards of my shattered soul in a plastic ziploc bag, paying close attention not to leave a single piece behind. You placed me gently next to you in the passenger seat of your car with the busted radio, shifted into gear, and tried to drive me away from the bad.
We drove to New Jersey, to the cold, eerie, but peaceful January beach. We walked barefoot, side by side, me finding solace that I was still here and I could see my footprints stretch behind me on the shore, and you still clutching my bag of broken pieces and letting it swing slowly by your side with each stride.
I stood with my feet in the crashing waves and breathed in the salt air, letting it fill up my lungs with each purposeful breath. I tried to exhale the pollution and toxins of the past year, and felt the waves softening my sharp edges each time they pulled back to the ocean abyss.
On the walk back, my foot prints had already been washed away by the soothing salt water. But, for the time being, I was still here. I would keep going, keep making new foot prints, and keep trying to piece myself back together. Still, I found serenity knowing that if I was unable to solve the puzzle, my broken soul could someday become a part of the ocean, and be smoothed down by the currents into something beautiful. Perhaps by next year, the sharp pieces of my soul would be softened by the artist of the ocean and scattered across the shoreline like a beautiful sea glass mosaic, waiting to be picked up by a curious beach goer.
Even broken can become beautiful.
It will be okay.
Happy New Year.
Time to go home.
You held me and cried with me and for an eternity we made no sounds at all because there were no words that could fix me. Your words were the first to cut through the quiet. "You are so good," you said. You are so good. You are so good. I let the words bounce around in my soul and tried to hold on to them but they felt to heavy to contain. We said nothing else and you kept your arms wrapped around me until the sun was peeking over the darkest night and heavy eyes gave in to sleep.
We woke up and you cleaned me up and tried to sweep up all my broken pieces, still knowing that no one else but me would be able to recreate the shattered glass puzzle. You sealed the sharp jagged edges and shards of my shattered soul in a plastic ziploc bag, paying close attention not to leave a single piece behind. You placed me gently next to you in the passenger seat of your car with the busted radio, shifted into gear, and tried to drive me away from the bad.
We drove to New Jersey, to the cold, eerie, but peaceful January beach. We walked barefoot, side by side, me finding solace that I was still here and I could see my footprints stretch behind me on the shore, and you still clutching my bag of broken pieces and letting it swing slowly by your side with each stride.
I stood with my feet in the crashing waves and breathed in the salt air, letting it fill up my lungs with each purposeful breath. I tried to exhale the pollution and toxins of the past year, and felt the waves softening my sharp edges each time they pulled back to the ocean abyss.
On the walk back, my foot prints had already been washed away by the soothing salt water. But, for the time being, I was still here. I would keep going, keep making new foot prints, and keep trying to piece myself back together. Still, I found serenity knowing that if I was unable to solve the puzzle, my broken soul could someday become a part of the ocean, and be smoothed down by the currents into something beautiful. Perhaps by next year, the sharp pieces of my soul would be softened by the artist of the ocean and scattered across the shoreline like a beautiful sea glass mosaic, waiting to be picked up by a curious beach goer.
Even broken can become beautiful.
It will be okay.
Happy New Year.
Time to go home.
