At this point in my life, I am just unsure.
I used to write all the time. I read at every chance and couldn't stop sharing laughs with friends. And now I do none of those things and as I write this I know why. I am in pieces.
Little pieces are scattered throughout the world that are big pieces of me. The man I love is in Shreveport and everything that I own is in New York. Here I am stuck working in south Louisiana. I find myself wondering what makes me happy here. Why did I move so far away from my pieces and how am I happy without them.
I am thankful for everything in my life but I can't help the things I miss or the things that make me feel like me.
What do I do?
I used to write all the time. I read at every chance and couldn't stop sharing laughs with friends. And now I do none of those things and as I write this I know why. I am in pieces.
Little pieces are scattered throughout the world that are big pieces of me. The man I love is in Shreveport and everything that I own is in New York. Here I am stuck working in south Louisiana. I find myself wondering what makes me happy here. Why did I move so far away from my pieces and how am I happy without them.
I am thankful for everything in my life but I can't help the things I miss or the things that make me feel like me.
What do I do?
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