When you can't go back, and you know...but there are still parts of you left behind you need to pick up and put into these cracks. They aren't so tiny anymore, step on one, break your mothers back, jump over and hop to the next piece of pavement, keep striding forward in those so high heels...with that perfect balance (all just a lie learned on a stage my its convincing under the right lighting) and no one will see you bobble.
There is some video of me taken in 30 second shots, dark and grainy, tinted slightly green, where I'm dancing in my living room, stripping off a nightie and I used to post it here now and then for a few minutes and then take it down, just a tease. I sent it to a few people. In a great purge of blog and files when I thought everything written had been exposed to places I didn't want it to go I hid it away and now it's just gone. I'd give anything to have those snippets back. To know they were real and that time existed.
So many things lost in the fire, but not a single flame ever seen. The great clearance sale of my soul. Can I blame it all on the mental illness? The missing pieces, seeing someone else living my life but are they doing it better than I did?
I need my bits, its all got to come home and complete circle even though I am going round, round, round. Its not symmetrical, its looping out of sync,not even wearing marks into the floor in these gaping wide arcs and hoops. My things are mine. I need them, its up to me where they go and how to put it right for me even knowing it will never be right and I will always be waiting for a missing piece.
I own an all black puzzle and someone asked me once, whats the point? You can always just jam any part in and make it look like it fit. I suppose you could I replied, but when I run my hands along it, finished and whole, I will feel that piece and all the other pieces its made to stick out. When I run my hands over that smooth inky black puzzle, it shines up at me and it feels perfect with every little notch linked together. I see myself reflected in it, all dark hair and pale face,and it calms me. I need my puzzle, I am that puzzle. I want to go back, but I cant, and I know, so give me back the parts. Let me put my puzzle back together my own.