Where The Edges Learned to Stay

A reflective look at the jagged pieces of a past that didn't fit, and the patient process

“Where the Edges Learn to Stay”


I was never given a full picture—
just a handful of jagged truths
pressed into my palm
like promises someone else broke.


Some pieces cut.
Some didn’t belong to me at all.
Still, I tried to make them fit—
forcing corners into quiet places,
bleeding for a shape
that never held.


There are pieces of you
still hiding in my box—
the ones that almost matched,
the ones I swore I’d find a place for
if I just turned them
the right way.


But not every piece
is meant for every story.


I learned that
when the sky wouldn’t meet the ocean,
when the edges refused to soften,
when no matter how I tried
we stayed
almost.


Now I sit with my scattered self,
sorting through what’s mine—
holding up each fragment to the light
like it might finally speak the truth.


And slowly,
patient as healing,
I begin again.


This time
I don’t force the fit.


I let the right pieces
find me.