Broken

We are all broken. This is probably why the world is the way it is. How can we expect the machinery of the universe to function properly when its constitute parts are so malformed?

Some people try to mend the world by mending each other, some try to mend each other by mending the world, and some -- the pragmatic few -- sigh at the flawed nature of existence and try to live as best as they can amide the rubble.

 

I cannot fix myself, much less fix the world. However hard I focus on perfection, I will never be a whole person. If I were a puzzle I'd be missing a piece. I know how the canvus is supposed to look, but don't have the resources to complete the picture.