Uniqueness

Oh little stitch in the fabric of all that has ever been…

Why do you cower as if the threads will unravel for you alone?
You are not fragile.
You are rippling chaos in a glass of still water.

The spark that laughs as it scorches the dark.
The universe did not birth you out of mercy.
It spat you into existence because it needed something strange.

Something imperfect to keep it awake.

Do you feel the gnawing in your chest?
That ache you’ve mistaken for despair?

It’s not despair.
It’s hunger.
You’re starving for yourself.

For the parts of you that have been thrown away like scraps from a meal too rich for your tongue.

Take them back.
Chew on your regrets.
Savour your doubts.

Devour the pieces of your brokenness until you are whole again.

They are yours, after all.

The cosmos with all its endless stars and screaming voids doesn’t know how to stop creating.
And neither do you.

Every step you take, even when it feels like falling…
Carves something new into the marrow of existence.

Do you hear it?
The hum of galaxies curling in your ears?
Like whispers too quiet to fear.

They’re waiting.
For you.

For the next bizarre, beautiful, reckless thing you’ll do.

And when you shatter…
and you will shatter, because that is the only way something truly alive can endure,
remember this:

The shards don’t disappear.

They burrow into the earth.
Into the bones of others.
Into the folds of time.
And they grow.

You are never lost.
Only scattered.
And what a gift that is.

Now… go.
Tear open the seams of the ordinary.

Make something no one, not even the universe, expected.

I’ll be here.
Watching.
Laughing.
Weeping.

Because you, strange little spark, are the reason the fabric holds.