I am a fragment of something once whole, a delicate shard of a picture that used to shine with perfection. Somewhere along the way, the edges were chipped, the surface scratched, and the light that once reflected so effortlessly became dull. I am a broken piece.
I feel it every day, this incompleteness that shadows my existence. It’s in the way I hesitate when I speak, second-guessing my words before they leave my lips, wondering if they matter. It’s in the way I carry myself, shoulders hunched under the invisible weight of everything I’ve lost and everything I’ll never be. I walk through life carrying the ghost of what I once was, or maybe what I could have been. There’s an emptiness, an ache, a hollow space that whispers cruelly in the quiet moments: You are not enough.
Sometimes, I try to piece myself together, to find those missing fragments that might make me whole again. I search in the people I meet, in the fleeting connections I make, in the endless distractions of the world. But the pieces are scattered, lost to time, buried in memories I’d rather forget, or taken by circumstances beyond my control.
I’ve convinced myself on some days that I can do it alone that I don’t need anyone, that I am enough even in my brokenness. I tell myself that strength lies in self-reliance, in enduring the pain without complaint. But then the silence comes. The silence is the worst. It creeps in during the dark hours of the night when the world is asleep, and I am left alone with my thoughts. It grows louder and louder until it drowns out every reassurance I’ve tried to tell myself. In those moments, the truth becomes impossible to ignore. I am incomplete.
It feels like waiting. Waiting for someone to see me ,not just the version of me I present to the world, but the real me. The one with the cracks, the imperfections, the wounds that haven’t healed. Waiting for someone to not turn away, to not see me as something ruined or irreparable but as a puzzle worth solving. I don’t want to be fixed; I want to be understood. I want someone to hold the broken pieces of me in their hands and love me, not despite the flaws, but because of them.
But I’m scared. Scared that I am too broken, that the jagged edges of who I am will cut too deep for anyone who tries to get close. Scared that my darkness will seep into their light, that my pain will become too heavy for them to bear. Scared that in the end, I will always be just this; a collection of damaged parts, too fragile to be whole, too wounded to let go of the pain that defines me.
I’ve tried to let it go, this pain, this past that clings to me like a second skin. I’ve told myself to move on, to leave it behind, to let the future be brighter than the shadows of yesterday. But it’s not that simple. The pain is familiar now. It’s become a part of me, a constant companion that never leaves. It reminds me of every mistake, every failure, every time I wasn’t enough. And maybe that’s why I hold onto it,because without it, I’m not sure who I am.
Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to be complete, to feel the way I imagine others feel when they are loved and whole. To not carry this emptiness, this yearning, this silent plea for someone to see past the cracks and fill the gaps with understanding and care. To not feel like a burden, like a problem waiting to be solved. To know that I am not just a broken piece, but a piece that belongs in something greater.
But those thoughts feel like dreams,beautiful, fleeting, and just out of reach. The reality is colder. The reality is me, standing in the ruins of who I used to be, trying to build something new from the ashes but never knowing where to start.
And yet, I hope. Despite everything, I hope. I hope that someday, someone will see me for who I am and stay. Someone who won’t be afraid of the cracks or the sharp edges, someone who will understand that I’m not asking to be fixed, I’m asking to be loved.
Until then, I remain as I am. A broken piece, searching for the hand that will hold me steady, the heart that will fit perfectly beside mine, and the light that will remind me that even in my brokenness, I was never truly lost. I am waiting, not for perfection, but for someone who will make me believe that broken things can still be beautiful.
~akyedepa ❤️🥂