All the Things....
To think that pieces of me are everywhere is both beautiful and haunting. It’s like leaving tiny bits of my soul across the universe, spreading parts of myself in moments and memories that have shaped me.
I hope my friend from school still reads books as much as we did back then, finding the same escape and comfort in those stories. I think of my grandmother every time I bake pastries. Even in the way I hold a cup of milk, I feel her warmth in heaven, her gentle hands guiding mine.
I hear my Mother in the hum I make to myself while cleaning, a habit I picked up from her without even realizing it.
I leave pieces of me in the Books I’ve spent nights crying over the pages stained with tears that reflect my own heartache and hope. The orange color of the sun and how it sets are filled with memories that weave my life. I found pieces of me in my favorite coffee, in the breathtaking views of the mountains, in the ocean, in the smell of the rain, in the poetry I wrote at 3 am, and in the moon and stars at night — everything I’ve loved.
Sometimes, I wonder if there’s enough of me left after leaving so much behind, like we’re missing something. We give away pieces of ourselves in moments of joy, sorrow, love, never quite realizing how much we’re giving away until we feel the void.
The emptiness inside us is filled with the essence of the places we’ve been and the people we’ve loved. It’s a bittersweet kind of wholeness, that defines us.
So, when I feel empty, I remind myself that I am everywhere. I am in the sunsets, the books I’ve read. I am in the whispers of the past and the echoes of the future.
Perhaps that’s the beauty of it all. We leave parts of ourselves in the things we love. I am a mosaic of every place, every person, every moment that has touched my life. And though I may feel empty at times, I know that those pieces are not lost — they are simply out there, living in the world, just as I am.
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