MoZaic

Remembering life is like looking at a puzzle. Each piece- each scene, event, person, feeling- is whole, but separate from every other piece. I can't understand how they all fit together. Which pieces form the corners, the sky or the logo on the very bottom right. Each instant is purely self-contained. My life is lived, puzzle piece to puzzle piece, not knowing where each goes in the grand scheme of the larger puzzle.

This is mostly a scrapbook of reblogs. All pieces of other peoples puzzles. You can find some of my writing here:
sinking sands
mine
we felt alive
the letter F
confession