The Art of Breaking
Months ago, when everything in my entire life was falling apart, certain things began falling together.
Let me rephrase that: Everything was cracking, but certain pieces seemed to be falling towards each other, edges lining up, clicking together as they fell. You were one of those pieces, cracked as well, broken as well, and we connected.
You seemed to be the only one who understood me at all, and just as my life was breaking, I was building it back up again with you as the foundations. You held my walls up and supported my ceilings, built space for my windows and a flat ground for my floor. The world didn’t seem to be such a bad place when you were around.
Months went by and everything stayed the same, yet changed drastically.
Let me rephrase that: I was the same on the inside, but I was changing my exterior, repainting the walls and changing the wall paper, and you were my designer, helping me choose which shade of blue went best with my eyes. And even when pieces of my foundation changed, even when my soul switched a little, you accepted it and found the right songs to fit the tune of the newfound pieces.
Now, today, you’re still here, yet you’re not.
Let me rephrase that: You’re not here here. You’re not sitting beside me physically, but I feel you everywhere I go. I feel you guiding my fingers over piano keys and singing for me when my voice breaks. You whisper encouragements in fragments of paragraphs. You’re crawling through my veins and drifting across my fingertips.
We’ve never been pristine. We’ve always been cracked, from the very beginning. But maybe that’s what makes this all easier.
Let me rephrase that: You’re crazy, I’m crazy, I love you.
Let me rephrase that: Everything was cracking, but certain pieces seemed to be falling towards each other, edges lining up, clicking together as they fell. You were one of those pieces, cracked as well, broken as well, and we connected.
You seemed to be the only one who understood me at all, and just as my life was breaking, I was building it back up again with you as the foundations. You held my walls up and supported my ceilings, built space for my windows and a flat ground for my floor. The world didn’t seem to be such a bad place when you were around.
Months went by and everything stayed the same, yet changed drastically.
Let me rephrase that: I was the same on the inside, but I was changing my exterior, repainting the walls and changing the wall paper, and you were my designer, helping me choose which shade of blue went best with my eyes. And even when pieces of my foundation changed, even when my soul switched a little, you accepted it and found the right songs to fit the tune of the newfound pieces.
Now, today, you’re still here, yet you’re not.
Let me rephrase that: You’re not here here. You’re not sitting beside me physically, but I feel you everywhere I go. I feel you guiding my fingers over piano keys and singing for me when my voice breaks. You whisper encouragements in fragments of paragraphs. You’re crawling through my veins and drifting across my fingertips.
We’ve never been pristine. We’ve always been cracked, from the very beginning. But maybe that’s what makes this all easier.
Let me rephrase that: You’re crazy, I’m crazy, I love you.