Mended

There are levels to brokenness. 

There are things that can be mended. 

A broken nail. 

A broken toy. 

A broken bone. 

There are things that can be replaced. 

A broken dish. 

A broken phone. 

A broken window.

And then there are the permanent ones. 

A broken trust. 

A broken relationship. 

A broken heart. 

Those are the ones that stay with us. The ones that, even when put behind us, always seem to be etched into our brains. They can't be mended or replaced. You may trust that person again, or get back together with your ex. Your heart may return to a steady rhythm. But there will always be that uneasy feeling in the back of your mind. That doubt. 

Will they betray my trust again? 

Does he love me the way he did before? 

Is my heart ready for this? 

The answer may never be clear.

Life is sometimes unforgiving. It's a fucking mess. Parts of it are easily broken, but there's strength in experiencing pain, hardship, and shitty times. Why do we use the phrase "break a leg" to tell someone good luck? Why do we love to tell that story about how we broke our arm in middle school falling out of a tree? Why do we empathize so much with movies whose main character had their heart broken and then lived to be a success story? 

There's power to it.

So go ahead. Break a nail. Smash a glass plate. Have your heart broken. Don't regret a single thing.

There are levels to brokenness. 

How broken are you?

.

.

.

Better yet,

How strong are you?

Thin Layer

Human life is such a fragile thing. A thin layer of skin lies between the outside world and our beating heart and breathing lungs and brittle bones. Filled with icy blue liquid that turns scarlet when it gets a taste of the stale air, as if in shock. Some veins are visible, pulsing with rhythmic elegance so poetic no pen nor paper on earth could condense it to mortal words.

Such a fragile thing.

A slip of a knife.
One too many pills.
A breath under water.
A broken heart.

Such a fragile thing.

Life.

And it hangs on such a thin thread. That threshold between life and death. Between breathing and being still. Between light and dark. Between being and having been. The craziest part? We have the power. The power to end it all. But we choose to continue on. The bravest thing anyone can possibly do. To get up every single morning and try. Try so damn hard. That's all we can really do, is try. Because there is no one on this earth that is winning at life. There is no peak existence. There is only making it to the end, when you've done all that you could do in a lifetime and have no more left to give to the world. That is when you have succeeded. So for now, just keep waking up in the morning. Keep making the most of what you can and striving for what it is you were put on this earth to do. Keep choosing life.

Keep living, moths. xoxo