Repair
Broken things litter my life — reminders of all the mistakes I’ve made and the consequences of my carelessness. Guilt would quickly cloud my mind for my clumsy fingers or my coarse actions. Though justifications sprung up of accidents, good intentions, and insignificance, I still found broken things in my wake. But what I’m proud of of late is gathering those broken things and turning them into some form of art, not rushing to discard my history, but to embrace it in something sort of beautiful. Maybe it's in my nature to be destructive, but it's also in my nature to make an attempt at amends.