I wore my comfy pair of old ripped jeans all weekend. They're on their last leg... the material near the hole in the right knee looking nearly paper thin. But they're soft. So soft. And the bottoms hit the ground at the right place, frayed bits dragging along the ground.
These days I'm wearing my life like I'm wearing those jeans. Reveling in the comfort, noticing the frayed bits, wondering when those bits will fall off without my knowing. Noticing while I fold them after a spin and a whirl and a tumble. Holding refreshed fabric, tighter and bolder, waiting to get comfy again.
Broken isn't a word that I normally like, but I feel a little broken these days. Or rather, broke open. I'm not sure. Exposed, maybe. But not more so than normal. Sometimes when you're busy living an open life, it's hard to pull in the reigns and not be too out there to too many people. I don't know what that means though... but that kind of is how I'm feeling.
The minute I start thinking I need a break from the openness and the telling of daily truths... I kind of know I need to sink my teeth in deeper.
I'm just thinking out loud. In type. I'm not trying to be cryptic, just seeing if anyone will pick up what I'm putting down... you know?
