Like the sound that a puzzle box makes. Hundreds of pieces, bumping and blundering around each other in an effort to be pushed together so they can become the picture they once made; the picture they might make again.
Or maybe it is cracking, like the high pitched notes of glass falling spectacularly into shards against something else. Something stronger, something bigger.
Or maybe, it is the sound of coming back together. Of picking up sharp edges and missing parts and forgotten corners and gluing, sewing, placing them back into what they used to know how be the way that little girls know they have the hands of a oneday, someday princess.
But as I am caught inside the ocean of sound that surrounds me as I learn again what breaking is and what healing is and who I am and who I’ve been, I have one question I must ask.
When I rattle, when I shake, will you dance with me to the rhythm that my pieces make?