-Everything is still unwritten. Our dreams are like scattered ash, the wind blows away. We spend our consciousness, our strength, chasing the shards that are displaced, hoping to collect them all, that the dream may be complete. Each piece we collect feeds the struggling flame within. Each piece allows us to continue, healing the hope that completion maybe possible.
I spent a lifetime within my lifetime, being crucified daily by the shoulds and ifs. So scattered, so unsure, praying to something I hoped was there, that this life did in fact hold magic. I wanted more than the ephemeral moments of it, of its presence, of its manifestation. I wanted an unbroken dream. Something I am not. That I may be more than me. Disappointed and disillusioned at every step and every turn, I had none but to make peace with the fractured self in the broken glass that stares back at me. I am not done, it is a process, a daily working towards and I try. I try to let go of the shoulds and ifs, as they only create ghosts and slow the journey. At this point I remind myself, sometimes daily, “I cannot tell what will be, only what has been.”
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