I learned a long time ago that mosaics were made out of broken glass.
Different colors, shapes, textures, but when you piece them together, paying attention to their details, they create some of the most beautiful works of art.
Discarded. Forgotten. Broken.
Repurposed. Intentional. Beautiful.
Recently I have felt broken, useless at times.
Forgetting who my creator was.
Capable of.
What I was made for.
More often than not, I have seen broken pieces made into something awe inspiring in the light.
So why now? Because I stepped back into the shadows? Because clouds covered my source of light? And in that fleeting moment I lost sight of my purpose?
Who really knows...
What I can say is, in the midst of my fight, my untangling, my discovery...
I remembered the time she told me about the ashes. The time we used someones trash to create a masterpiece.
Spiraling is never a good look on anyone and I tend to do my worst acting in these moments, assuming no one else can tell, or maybe no one cares...
None of this is a fully formed thought...
I am better than I was.
I'll never be whole like some say.
I am a masterpiece, yes.
A work of art created by the pieces of broken glass created to form me.
The silence isn't deafaning anymore.
The chaos in my mind doesn't feel so violent.
There are signs of balance.
Emotions are finding their way to the surface,
some are more managed than others.
Not all days will end with a sunset full of our colors.
Not all mornings will feel stoic.
My path has been formed,
no matter how many times I leave it or wish it were different, easier maybe.
Only certain moments... etched in this broken glass,
will collect the light "just so" to where my purpose, my masterpiece, is fully on display
and I can recognize it as such.
And it will feel like waking up for the first time.
"He talked about you all the time."
