epiphany.

i sat on my worn black sofa and strummed the few chords that i know. i smiled and sang and appreciated the ridiculousness and utter madness of being. there was a man picking a beautiful acoustic song in the background, on my half-defunct stereo.

i appreciate things that are broken. my coffeecup handles. the high e on my guitar. my cell phone charger. the people i love. it's the broken things that inspire me to create alternatives. to live amongst the broken without regret.

i am a grand observer. i look upon everything with a sparkling disconnect. i once believed in perfection. i felt it possible to know everything. as a child, i attempted to read my world book encyclopedias from a-z. it bored me. i don't want to be an encyclopedia. i find joy in things i fail to retain. i enjoy conversing with those who believe they are the missing volume, but only because i know (somewhere inside), that they are tragically misinformed.

if like attracts like, and i'm convinced it does, then i am charming. i am broken.

i cheer for the underdog. i fall in love with puzzles with the final piece lost behind the same black sofa upon which i sit.

i fell asleep last night longing for the arms of someone beside me to hold me together, but i am only human. and to be human is to desire that dust-laden missing piece.

i propped my guitar against the wall and hummed the song i had just written. the lyrics, true and simple, failed to make it to the page. it may have been beautiful. it may have been perfect. but i am not perfect. i am broken. and i appreciate the broken things.