I carry these stones with me for when decisions are harder to make,
the backs of them have long since been smoothed down by worry,
my fingertips taking away the pieces of Earth years of pressure created.

Pressure created me.
I was raised beneath a roof full of fractures,
and sometimes sunlight poured in,
but mostly rain did.
Puddles all around because the holes we patched never stayed fixed for very long.

So can you tell me who I am if what you did to me gave me life?
If all my broken parts were never whole to start then there is no fault.

But my life is built on fault lines,
shifting bits of Earth powerful enough to leave me in ruins just by moving.
They say Rome took longer than a day to build,
but I heard it crumbled in seconds.

Today on the bus I made two new friends, and the sun shined on my face for the first time since winter came crushingly so many moons ago,
but still I missed you the dull way that makes moments of happiness taste bittersweet.

Wherever you are right now please be laughing.

As you're out there getting lost in the whirlwind life you're living,
as you give away the parts of you I long to look at once again,
and take pieces from people I will never know,
I pray you pause to remember the way flowers I picked for you felt in your hair.

Whoever you are right now I hope you're living well.

And as you turn down the corner of another page you have marked on,
temporary as the good and bad have always been,
I know you can't shake the feeling that something dire was lost in leaving.
All I ask is you recognize when to cut your losses and fly, little bird.

Whatever you're doing right now make it lasting.

Don't shy away when darkness approaches;
you've always told me to be braver than that.
But rather stick out your chest, breathe the deepest breath, and go forward.
On shaking legs sprint towards life or death or me or him or her or the unknown.