No creatures who are fully intact
Some beings give away part of themselves to others
Entrusting them, even though the other may not be aware
A beautiful sign of how much they can care
Each reducing themselves to become more together
They are not broken by such actions
They are all together more wonderful by doing so
But others find that same act harder
Because it's possible to lose yourself without giving it away
It's possible to not know where part of a being has gone
Just that that part absent. Not here.
Somewhere far away yet oh so close.
Paralysed bodies preventing restoration of a piece within arm's reach
And then others talk of honour
Of how good it is to be whole
And they mean not to be vicious or callous, but there's no honour in a broken soul
They just don't understand. And have never had reason to.
Yet they might be hiding an absence themselves
It does not do to assume you alone are broken
For the beauty is not in keeping yourself whole for eternity
Yet nor is there romance in being a broken being
Life is for searching. For adding, subtracting, swapping and dividing.
Maybe growing a little bolder. Filling a couple gaps more than you create.
Not embracing the brokenness, but perhaps becoming a little more accepting of it
For you are your edges, curves and cracks all together
And then maybe, someday.
You can share some of your broken self with another. And they'll share their broken self back with you.
I literally have no idea what I've just written. I couldn't write it again. But it's very different to how I usually write, which is good. I just had this song playing, and started writing. Maybe it makes more sense if you listen to it - http://levipatel.bandcamp.com/track/and-she-translated-into-the-sky
I do not claim to be an expert on depression, nor (for the most part) a sufferer of it. But I did have that in mind when writing, so I hope I've done it justice.
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