Pondering Faults

I often wonder

If I was made broken

Or if life broke me.

Are the bonds I find so firmly affixed upon my heart of my own device?

Or is each one simply a memory I can’t shake?

People say you find yourself, in those quiet times alone.

But more often than not I find a vacancy.

A place where I should rightfully be, but I am not.

In lieu are the thousands of reflections of moments. Perfect and imperfect alike.

Scattered between deep fractures.

Cracks split so deeply into the truth of me that I think I must be endless.

Was I born broken?

Or was I born to break?


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