Perhaps it’s the work I do which requires the baring of souls, but I get this feeling that the whole world is aching, as if we’re all burnt and bloodied fragments from the same faraway explosion, a flash of light against the black, casting off descendants in pieces.
We build and we love but there is an emptiness in all of us because we can’t possibly gather up all the pieces and so when we have those moments between accomplishments where we’re sitting in silence, a whisper comes past our ear and asks us what’s next… and it hurts a little.
It hurts because we want to wrap ourselves up in the pieces we’ve found to take shelter, to be warm once and for all, but there are always cracks between the pieces, and there always will be.
These cracks give us room to grow but they also leave us exposed and unsheltered.
It’s not long before you feel the draft and are reminded once more by the incompleteness around you, that you are not whole, and that it’s time to build and love again.