And maybe we only ever find each other in the cracks in our souls, in the scar tissue made of habits we learned from others that get lost or left behind when that person leaves. We find each other in the pain of loss and bittersweet nostalgia that creeps up on us at the most unexpected times. We find who we are or were or could be in memories that cut us deep, in people who once made us whole. Maybe all we ever are is patchwork of the people around us and the impact they had on our lives. And maybe if I open up the wounds that hurt the most, maybe if I nourish them with good thoughts and warm light and fresh water, maybe I'll find you, blooming like flowers through the cracks in my soul.

Self-portrait