Tuesday, March 18, 2014


The more I hold on the more I am forced to
Let go. 
As the plans I have constructed fall away and in their place
Grains of sand
A dream once made of rock
Washed down into nearly nothing. 
And you would think that would be depressing. 
And it is. 
But the beauty in all those tiny moments holds my attention
More so than what I wanted. 
Not to replace but to be part
The sand in my hands and the rock I once thought I knew are one and the same. 
What I want is to be known. 
I have so many gifts and supports. 
Who am I to call it less than or not as whole? 
They are broken just like me. 
And all those dreams of 

Like the time 

Slipping through my fingers. 

Broken down, but so beautiful. 

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