Broken

I have a friend who tells me she is broken,
as so many pieces,
shattered and scattered across the years,
and I must admit I feel this way at times.

There are moments when I am weak,
finding myself alone
in so many ways,
despite the comforting words,
the presence,
even the intimate embrace
of those who are as light in a dark place.

Wondering,
we think that maybe we may never feel whole again,
destined to carry with us
an emptiness that can never be filled
a void left by the swift and uncaring passage of time,
as the stream carves deep into the stone over many years.

There have been volumes written,
and if you listen to the sounds,
the hum of the crickets,
the warble of the springtime birds,
you hear it in chorus,
to and from all corners of the Earth:
longing,
and a desperation to find solace.

We seek reunion,
to what we do not really know,
outside of rare moments of clarity which soon fade,
as quickly as they appear.

The years bring change,
each day further from the first,
and closer to the last.

All life is perspective,
meaning gleaned,
from the differences thusly.

Is it not true
that water frozen forms ice,
and for the water to flow once more,
the ice must break?

In this way,
though we may be broken,
in time we see,
that the cracks extend,
beyond the self,
not that we might be lost,
but that we might be found,
made whole
by the very pain which we endure,
and the solidarity which comes through our loss.