I let go really easily of what it means to be me.
Split into several pieces, trying to stitch them back into one thing.
At times I manage to become whole, to find the unifying piece, but then it breaks apart again and I have to find a way to mend.
But maybe that’s the wrong analogy.
Maybe the pieces are always the whole, the breaking is just a new shape they take. I’m always there, I’m always me. In all my parts, in every way.
Maybe the truth is not to mend, but to learn to better see. To let myself take whatever shape, to let that shape be me.
Upside Down Flight 