AntimonyKohl

I'm trying to find all the pieces. It's been hard to find what I've found so far. I used to think "I'll never need this" so I would give them away whenever asked. A person is made of many parts, seems like we often have more than enough and spare bits and bobs all put inside. How was I supposed to know that each piece was important? How was I supposed to know that while something appeared redundant it had a purpose? I took myself apart, piece by piece, cause I'm not real, you know. I'm a clockwork. "Redundant, unnecessary, useless, bogs me down" Parts that made me a person, like you. Spirited, loving, caring, human. Something I'm trying to be once again. Without these parts I'm constantly needing to be rewound. How was I supposed to know that they gave me free will? The ability to move forwards without constantly twisting my key? My frame hurts where these peices should be. I've tried taking them from others, cannibalizing what bits I could, but they don't work. Nobody was

I'm falling. I'm flailing, reaching out. Screaming, calling out. But Here I Am Falling. While standing next to you, I want to tell you so badly but everytime I open my mouth, I Start Falling Faster. I want to hit the bottom. I want to be able to speak. I want to be able to look you in the eye. I'm standing next to you. You grab my hand and suddenly I can speak again. Suddenly I'm no longer falling. Suddenly this isn't so hard to say.

The sun is warm against your skin. Beating down from directly above. But you cannot move. Your skin aches as it begins to turn red. You have sunscreen in your bag next to you. You know that your skin is going to be angry, peel, be ugly for a long time. But you cannot move. She is asleep, her head rests on your lap. And she is so beautiful, at peace, calm. You cannot move. It would wake her. And this is the best she has slept in days. Here in the hot sun, her laying out on the grass, you sitting legs crossed. The Sunburn is worth it.

The water is cold. The salt, sand and silt shimmering as the sunlight hits it. You are standing on the Sandbar. You take off your shoes then your shirt and pile them on a large rock sticking out of the sand. You walk closer to the water, barefoot, the rocks making up the beach pressing into the soles of your feet, slightly uncomfortable. You walk into the water, as you walk the salt water stings against your legs, pointing out the small cuts that hadn't bled when you shaved them that morning. It feels good. A reminder of achievement. You step on something slippery, seaweed, and lose your balance, falling forward into the water. You fully submerge, when you come back up you hear her laughing from the shore. You turn red realizing it's you she finds so funny. But it's good. You have missed that laugh. It's a good day.

You would think it would be easy to find one. One to call your own, one that fits, one that doesn't feel like it belongs to someone else. But it's not, sometimes you find one and you think "is this mine?" its hard to say. The search is blind. We don't know what it looks like. Sometimes you get them handed down from others, old, used, warn and occasionally dangerous. It's often given with the expectation you will use it as the previous owner did. Even if they used it wrong. One day we will find our own. One day we will know how to use it. Till then we search.