To me there was always something beautiful about the people who constantly chose to

fall apart,

leave their pieces scattered,

and walk among us as fragments.

The beauty was in the abandonment,

and the hope of finding the answer in the still of the night--

under the stars,

in an earth warmed by a sun that had disappeared.

Often I would go there, searching for one moment of clarity.

But after time, I learned that I didn't need to search for clarity.

It wasn't found in the dead of night,

in the reckless abandonment of youth,

in the thousands of poems I wrote of such.

Because there was something about the newness the sun brought.

And I would wake up every morning and I would want more than the poems I'd written

in the dark.

I would want more than the hope of nightfall.

And wanting more meant not falling apart, wanting more meant keeping all the pieces

together.

So I made a pact with myself to never hold the pieces rigidly.

I held each piece of myself singularly.

Each in its own kind of abandonment.

I became both.

I was reckless, yet together.

I was abandoned, yet whole.

And I started to see the beauty in everything.

From the sun, to the stars,

from the moon, to the morning dew,

from the first hello of a stranger, to the heartbeat of an old friend.

It all was clarity.

It all was important.

It all was coming into focus.