The beauty of existing is something that should be treasured. They tell us that God made human beings, that our birth is a miracle, that we are miracles. But the truth is we are just broken pieces scattered all across the globe. Our beautiful existence is just a lie we tell ourselves everyday. Our happiness is a mere act of pretending and we are truly wonderful actors.
Our smiles hide away our sorrows, our eyes cry out from the pain, our hearts bury the suffering that eats away at us and our so-called souls have been ripped out but their broken bits still exist. And yet, they tell us we are miracles.
Despite the tangible proof, I think I’m starting to believe that, too. Maybe, our brokenness is a miracle of its own. Maybe, someday, we won’t exist but our broken pieces will prick someone’s soul and we will be the ones to create miracles. Maybe.