Bits and pieces. What do you do when you have to read between the lines, folding that letter you wrote to yourself years ago, and then refolding the past awkwardly between the creases? That's one of my many troublesome dilemmas. There were so many promises made; some kept, more broken. And at other times during my life (never mind the promises), I found that where dreams came to an end there were more nightmares to begin. But, really, who am I to complain? I'm still alive and functioning for the most part. Yesterday, I remembered old friends who lay buried somewhere in a valley or a field; on Kauai or on Maui, and even one in California. I choose to remember the laughter over unkind words and silly arguments. It all seems irrelevant and petty now. Bits and pieces. What else is there in this complexingly simple life that we all share? Some isolate themselves behind their facades of self-important careers. Others liberate themselves in front of their monuments of all-important family. And still others dabble in both worlds, resenting a little of both at times. I used to do that--dabble. Now, I keep a blog where I can babble. Bits and pieces. What else can a person do but pick them up and arrange it all into a self-portrait, searching for the true image that resides in us all? Cracks and lines run along the edges of a life's work; still incomplete. Gray areas become translucent and naked to the eye, distorting purity again. Nothing ever seems final in such an infinite world.
But I just keep going on, collecting every morsel of opportunity that lays ahead. I keep squeezing odd shapes and sizes into even colors and constructs. It never makes sense to me at first. Eventually though, I'll run out of material. And when there are finally no more bits and pieces for me to gather, it'll all make sense. I hope.
These are the kind of thoughts that run through my head on rainy days, when I miss high school class reunions, and visit my old college. I look everywhere for the remnants, the bits and pieces of my life. Though they are scarce, I still find a few. They have not run out, yet.
But I just keep going on, collecting every morsel of opportunity that lays ahead. I keep squeezing odd shapes and sizes into even colors and constructs. It never makes sense to me at first. Eventually though, I'll run out of material. And when there are finally no more bits and pieces for me to gather, it'll all make sense. I hope.
These are the kind of thoughts that run through my head on rainy days, when I miss high school class reunions, and visit my old college. I look everywhere for the remnants, the bits and pieces of my life. Though they are scarce, I still find a few. They have not run out, yet.
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