Pieces of Me

I like to think that people are mostly made up of parts of other people. Without even trying to you take pieces of others and you mold them into yourself. You also leave bits of yourself in the people you meet and the places you go. I've got a lot of appreciation for the people who've helped shape the woman I've become, She's a beautiful masterpiece-in-progress. To everyone who has shown me who I want to be and even those who have shown me who I don't want to be, this is for you.

I like to hoard my clothing, even when it doesn't fit me anymore. From what I hear, so did my late grandmother, who passed away the day after I turned 10. My mother says she still sees her when she looks at me. I heard my friend and coworker say something that I have since heard myself reiterate on more than one occasion about someone new. You said, "It's a good thing he is such a good friend because he's a shitty coworker." You were right about him, and I have to wonder if you ended up saying the same thing about me, maybe reversed. Maybe by the end, you didn't think I was either. You were my best friend, you took me under your wing immediately without knowing much more than my name. I ended up leaving without an explanation, with barely even a goodbye. I'm still sorry. I always knew I loved babies, but I didn't know how much I could love and connect to one until I met my baby sister. I only got to know her for a short time, and she will grow up and not remember me. But I will never forget her. I'll always root for her from the sidelines. It hurts too much to keep these parts of me anywhere but tucked away in a lockbox in my heart, but they make me feel whole when I leave pieces behind.

It's a blessing and a curse to leave some of yourself behind when you move on in your life, sometimes one more than the other. There's a piece of me still in Southern Minnesota, Probably still drinking her days away, pretending that this is all she wants and needs out of life. I'm glad I left her there. A little bit of me is in the mountains of Arkansas. She knows she isn't in love but she tries to make the best of her time there anyway. I'd like to feel that awe of being in such a beautiful new foreign place again. There's probably a scared little 18-year-old Crystal out there somewhere, too. Maybe she's in that cramped apartment with too many people living in it. She could be sleeping in her car in the middle of the winter, or maybe she's out wandering the lonely streets where people pretend not to hear your cries for help. I hope she knows deep down that she deserves better, I wish I could go back and give her a hug and show her how bright her future is.

I think that maybe in a way it evens itself out, that when I leave a part of me somewhere I pick up a piece of someone else and it fills in the empty space. Most days I do feel whole, other days I desperately search for parts of me that I know are gone. I long for the connections that weren't meant to last. But maybe it's okay if I'm not full, too. Maybe we aren't meant to be. After all, how else would we have room to pick up more pieces and start it all again?