I hold up my life to the light
and observe the shapes drawn across it.
Swirls of delight, bright dashes of joy,
Long, gentle moments with friends.
The light shimmers joyously here.
Strokes of bitterness, anger,
Where the colors are dull and uneven.
Blotches mark where patches were placed.
There are cracks in it, too; I touch them gently.
Moments when all seemed lost,
But not forever.
Not now.
Some parts have snapped off completely,
Whether by my hand or another’s;
Here the colors are vibrant,
The memories most sharp, the light most attuned.
It is not a pretty thing, all bulky and misshapen.
It won’t win any contests, and it’s too big for a shelf.
I don’t suppose someone would pay for it
And show it to their friends.
And yet, it’s beauty is undeniable.
The light etches across it like the embrace of time,
Full of nostalgia and promise at once.
It’s taken a lifetime to make,
And I think I see some room left for more changes.
I set my life on the table before me.
It rests there, all crooked and wobbly.
I feel every moment I poured it.
Every tear.
Every laugh.
Every sigh.
Every word.
I feel them all, breathing them in.
I embrace the creation before me.
Its sharp edges prick my arms,
But I don’t back away.
They deserve love, too.
I breathe, and the smells of moments long past fill me.
I listen, and songs dance in my soul.
I feel, and I feel it all.
I release, and before me
The poor thing I made is beautiful,
Filled with wonder and sorrow,
Yearning and mourning.
Its beauty is unique, unlike any other.
Some may not see it,
But I do.
And I will treasure it always.
