Everything is fragmented.
I think I’m slowly having a grip on things. On what they mean. But it’s not always a good thing. I wish for structure, some semblance of an aim – a goal or a destination.
I can see me now. It hasn’t always been that way.
One day I was looking out the window and saw the leaves of a tree swaying to wind. Slowly, in the mild heat of the day. It was like an epiphany, a clarity that strikes you when you least expect it. When you weren’t even searching. My life now is imperfect. There are times when I barely feel alive. Going through the motions, wasting time, erasing memories, breathing just because there’s nothing else to do. I no longer fear fear; I don’t fear solitude. I only fear that the things I hold close to the chest are dwindling. Now I anchor myself as I hold the ropes for others. Someday I’m going to have to pass the reigns. And it will be all right.
I don’t wish for perfection. I already feel complete. Albeit fragmented.