Fragments and more fragments of pieces and memories, photographs faded and lost stitches and run on sentences waiting for the unknown to make itself known. Pieces of a puzzle from a billion different puzzles with no guide map or compass to find the way to the truth but I can file the corners down, and bend and cut and shape and pick out pleasing colours and create my own truth knowing it wouldn’t be your truth.

That clenched muscle deep in your stomach that can’t beat back the butterfly wings threatening to escape upwards until they pour out of your mouth, flapping towards eternity, the same one you got while standing out on the wing of the plane, the roar of the wind so loud that all you could think was, “I never knew it would be so loud” even as your body pushed back into the violent air, a cushion of trust towards the unknown opening and then it was quiet so quiet and time seemed to slow as you floated there breathless, hurtling towards earth, gasping at the sun low in the sky and realizing you were lost and had no idea where to turn, where the landing spot was and you laughed so loud because you realized in that moment that it didn’t matter.

And the run on sentence finds what it is looking for, the moment that it had forgotten and it closes the sentence.