Phone Call

You are a broken thing, patched together by your own two hands. The work is makeshift and haphazard but it’s honest. Though those pieces may not fit in perfect tandem, the way they connect to create the shape of you is lovely. 

Not of a straight line but of a path awkwardly traveled. Pieces fell to be replaced by others. Sewn in with trembling hands. A patchwork of experience births a construction. Unlike anything ever to walk the Earth. Travel on upon your winding path and shed what no longer serves you, adopt what you think might. Repeat. Repeat.

Wisdom is a mosaic of pieces patched together. From one set of trembling hands. With the help of others. Always in progress. Never finished. 

Stop, look at you. This beautiful makeup of flaw. To leave my signature is an honor. A gift. One to share between us. 

Because I am a broken thing, too. Patched together by trembling hands. With the help of others. Always in progress. Never finished.

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