broken_into_fractions Bizzar pieces. parts of me. they broke when you broke. and i left them behind when i left you so they might be able to put you back together. i underestimated the weight of watching you defeated undone beautiful, nonetheless. you. i will continue to live my life sewn to your shadow picking up the pieces that fall behind you and gluing them back on to you to me no matter how far you drift i won't be far behind. even if you can't see me won't see me even if you take the eyes i have given you, and choose to see her. and i'll be there to pick up the pieces she pulls from you. 230103 ... FauxGrr one of my earliest memories is of may striking me with a wooden spoon as i tried to make myself as small as possible in a corner on the floor. she ran what amounted to a preschool from her home, watching twenty or so children before regulations existed to prevent such arrangements. she taught us nothing of value. but i learned plenty in my time there: that i didn't like being there that i wasn't very good at making friends that wooden spoons could be weapons, not just kitchen tools these lessons have persisted into old age: large gatherings still make me uncomfortable my skill at social interactions is still below average and to this day, wooden spoons are absent from my kitchen drawers. what i once perceived as brokenness reveals itself now as simply the journey of a soul learning to navigate existence. we navigate life carrying fragments of our past. these broken pieces often fracture our present as we keep reaching toward some sort of hopeful future. our memories are scattered like shards of glass catching occasional light creating a complex constellation of who we are. these broken pieces of glass are what makes us whole, wooden spoons and all. 250523 what's it to you? who go blather from