I'd write love letters to the earth, whisper them to the wind, fold them into paper boats, and find a stream to sail them in, i'd write of beautiful sunrises, of the oranges and pinks, while i sit beside the seashore, where the waves can smudge my ink, i'd write these words on paper. I remember when the world broke in, to rip apart my soul, for years after that one event, i thought myself not whole, my hours were spent with trying, to fix it up with tape and glue, until one day i discovered, everyone else was broken too, here we were with pieces, of ourselves in both our hands, so fragile and so open, that i began to understand, maybe i'd been greedy, to want my soul all to myself, when it could be a lot more helpful, in the palms of someone else, now every time i go somewhere, i leave part of me behind, and collect all of the pieces, of other's souls that i can find, so when i'm meeting someone new, it's not just me they get, but also tiny fragments, of all the others that i've met, ane my life's become much bigger, now that it's home to things so small, and if this is what "broken" means, i do not mind at all.
Teressea—Page of 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦
