Gee, I'm awfully patchy.

Written July 28, 2023

The thing is…

I am a mere composition of things I have written, emotions I have felt, and people I have met.

To collect them all and piece them together would be an impossible feat. But here I am anyways.

Although I am whole, I am constantly changing. Thus it feels like I am sure of very little.

These beautiful things and people appear and then swiftly vanish.

At least they exist at all.

The only thing I can be certain of is impermanence.

And if that is so, that I am the combination of my mother, father, brother, friends, and the man I have loved, then I suppose I was never meant to be woven so tightly.

If you were to collect the books I have read, the places I have been, the films I have seen, and all of the letters I have written and stitch them all together, it would be patchwork at best. Fabrics would clash and strings would hang loosely, color theory certainly wouldn't make any sense at all.

Because these elements of life fill me up and then they flee, but at the very least they change me. 

Still, none of it makes very much sense at all.