Broken Art

Something happens when you write everything down. All of your anxieties, worries, cares.. You begin to process, you begin to think, you begin to heal. To write it, and leave it. To let it go as you close the page. 

My worries as of late are fragments of thoughts about the past and future. Things I can't do anything about, yet I still stew. I miss out on what is happening today, thinking about what is to come or could have done. 

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Picture a mirror, shattered on the ground. When you hover over it you see a hundred reflections of yourself, from many different angles. It's like your past... Broken up in so many pieces, from so many different circumstances, from so many perspectives.. Feeling scattered, you give to worry. Fragments in your mind of past events, past losses, past choices. How will this fragmented display ever be whole and used for a purpose? 

Bending over the array of shards, you begin to pick up the pieces. You prick your finger on a couple sharp memories and move on. It hurts, but doesn't draw blood this time. 

You start placing the mosaic of shapes on a blank, boring canvas, and start to realize something interesting.. As the pieces are strategically placed, your broken life starts looking a little more like art instead of trashed goods. You start to see something beautiful, almost captivating about all of the pieces coming together to make a mosaic of life's hardships. It speaks something.

People pass by and see this work of art and are changed by it, knowing that deep in their heart they can be like this mosaic too. It's just a matter of picking up the pieces, and using them for something beautiful.