(no subject)
B r o k e n
I visited an antique store the other day, searching for good deals on once prized finds and overlooked, hidden treasures.
I walked through the store for a good while, sifting through old books and postcards, rubbing the old of the curtains with the tips of my fingers and taking in the scent of aged leather and the newly polished terrazzo. Everything was exquisite; my eyes were well rewarded with the sight of the beautiful tapestries and my hands were welcomed by the smoothness of the old, oak vanity tables and maple dressers.
As I walked around some more, wondering which piece would compliment my room in a way that'd assuage my fickle taste, I came upon a doll that had been stripped of it's clothing, broken foot to one side, tossed to the side without much care.
I couldn't help but feel a tad forlorn, though I'm not sure if what I'd felt was for the doll or for myself. Once loved, once cherished, once prized by someone -- now it lay helplessly in the backdrop of that someone's mind, abandoned.
I can't help but feel I am that doll, broken and torn, tossed to the side without much care. A notable difference between the doll and I is the fact that I'm tethered to the memories of an unforgettable past whereas the doll merely has it's foot cut off. However, we're immobile just the same -- unable to move forward, unable to move past such restraints and conditions.
° ° ° ° °
I think a lot of us are broken in more ways than two: whether it's our spirit, our idealism or our sense of self, sometimes we're left with nothing more than fragments of what used to be, what could have been or sometimes, just sometimes, what never really was.
I believe it's good to be broken to a degree; it humbles us.
Disheartening, true, but never a reason to let go. I'll always hold and cherish the pieces left of my broken dreams. Sure we never truly heal and that part of us remains cracked and fragile but these pieces form a mosaic of all things beautiful we held close to our bosom at one point and serve as a guiding hand to help create a new one. A more beautiful one, perhaps.
Truly, lack of faith and hopelessness imprison the soul and I refuse to be a prisoner of my own heart.
Are you a prisoner of your own heart? How are some ways you are broken?
I visited an antique store the other day, searching for good deals on once prized finds and overlooked, hidden treasures.
I walked through the store for a good while, sifting through old books and postcards, rubbing the old of the curtains with the tips of my fingers and taking in the scent of aged leather and the newly polished terrazzo. Everything was exquisite; my eyes were well rewarded with the sight of the beautiful tapestries and my hands were welcomed by the smoothness of the old, oak vanity tables and maple dressers.
As I walked around some more, wondering which piece would compliment my room in a way that'd assuage my fickle taste, I came upon a doll that had been stripped of it's clothing, broken foot to one side, tossed to the side without much care.
I couldn't help but feel a tad forlorn, though I'm not sure if what I'd felt was for the doll or for myself. Once loved, once cherished, once prized by someone -- now it lay helplessly in the backdrop of that someone's mind, abandoned.
I can't help but feel I am that doll, broken and torn, tossed to the side without much care. A notable difference between the doll and I is the fact that I'm tethered to the memories of an unforgettable past whereas the doll merely has it's foot cut off. However, we're immobile just the same -- unable to move forward, unable to move past such restraints and conditions.
° ° ° ° °
I think a lot of us are broken in more ways than two: whether it's our spirit, our idealism or our sense of self, sometimes we're left with nothing more than fragments of what used to be, what could have been or sometimes, just sometimes, what never really was.
I believe it's good to be broken to a degree; it humbles us.
Disheartening, true, but never a reason to let go. I'll always hold and cherish the pieces left of my broken dreams. Sure we never truly heal and that part of us remains cracked and fragile but these pieces form a mosaic of all things beautiful we held close to our bosom at one point and serve as a guiding hand to help create a new one. A more beautiful one, perhaps.
Truly, lack of faith and hopelessness imprison the soul and I refuse to be a prisoner of my own heart.
Are you a prisoner of your own heart? How are some ways you are broken?