The Path

When I was young I used to think broken things were beautiful…and then I was broken.

Now I see them for what they really are, pieces of something that was once whole and will never be again.

Us broken things can only pretend to be whole.

Shine a light on us and you will see us for who we really are.

I am not young anymore, my broken pieces no longer hold any charm.

I keep desperately trying to fix myself, to rise above it all, triumphant–a warrior.

And yet, I keep falling. Time and time again I fall and another precious piece breaks off.

Another scar added to my collection.

I have moved across the world.

I have travelled and seen things. Incredible things.

And yet, I am still broken.

Will I ever be beautiful again?

Here Ends Our Story

You were my not-so-secret secret longing.

The breath I held, dearly, between my lips.

You were the story I wished to tell.

But instead, our story ends here.

Unfinished.

Unwritten.

Unavailable.

Stories

“Are there any stories you wish you had ended differently?” She asked, bright blue drops shining gently at the corner of her mouth.

Mine. I wish my story had ended differently.