Something More

Broken. That was what we thought we were. We were dreamers once who always believed that life is wonderful and will never mean to hurt. Like newly pressed sheets of paper, we let life draw its ink against our smooth surface as it writes the perfect story. 

We were the hopeful, naive, starry-eyed believers. 

Until life decided that it doesn't like what it has written, so it crumpled the sheets that were once was us and tossed it across the dark side of the room. Words written turned into incomprehensible squiggles as tears smudged away the ink. Time flew by and dried tears turned into red haze. Tearing up all these crumpled sheets into tiny pieces and throwing them up to the air, watching them fall down like improvised snowflakes raining inside this dingy room. 

We were prepared to blow the life out of the last flicker of hope when life showed us that it has other plans. With a sweep of its fingers, it gathered up all of our torn pieces and put it in a basin. With water and glue, it stirred us around and around until all our colors mixed and poured the mixture into a wooden frame; then laid us out under the warmth of the sun. 

It wasn't until when we were drying underneath the heat when we realized that all our broken pieces were once more whole. We may not be the same smooth, monochromatic separate sheets of paper we once were. But it wasn't until we saw the imperfections, the splashes of colors across our roughened sheet that we realize, that sometimes being broken is never the end. It's only life's way of giving us a chance to create our paper that we'd use to write our story on before it lends us its pen. 

To create something that we can call as ours. 

To create something new. 

Something more beautiful.