Life stitches different patterns on us all – some dig deep and hurt us to our core, while others leave beautiful water colors drawn vibrantly on our skin. I am a patchwork of sorts; some patches can be covered up, re-worked, sewn together, and some can never be touched. I’m just a weird girl wrapped in a patch work of crazy dreams, passionate memories, and a blessed upbringing.
But, sometimes the patch work can stretch us so thin, it starts to tear at the seams, like an influx of information and interests, forever expanding. Sometimes, I feel like I might rip into hundreds of pieces scattered around this incredible city. And I’m lucky for that, I am so lucky to have left pieces of me in people’s backyards, in midnight skinny dips with illuminescent plankton, in the lips of lost lovers, in cozy coffee shops, and in the hearts of those I still hold so close.
But, this is the problem with loving too many things, with holding onto things so tightly they wilt from the inability to breathe. It’s impossible to breathe time into life, and maybe that’s what’s exciting, the transience, the vagabond nature of our time here on earth.
Weaving in new experiences, faces, and places creates bumps and mismatches in our patterns that are essential, messy, yet absolutely worth it. Although complicated, the more entangled and woven the fabric becomes, the harder it is to tear at the seams…