Sorting through the photos from my past
Looking for clues of who I was meant to be
Before the Great Divide sent pieces flying
Seeking remnants of my essence
Like the blind reading Braille
I touch as if to read my own soul
The twinkle in my baby eye
The curve in my 2 year old’s smile
Was I quick to laugh?
Did I welcome others from a sound sense of safety?
That playful 4 year old with the “Dare Me” head tilt
Did she feel held by the universe?
If I trace these shapes now
Can I create a new form
To slip on like an easy cloak
Made of former me’s?
Or will the lines disappear to take another shape altogether
Made of the me that I have become?
Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: trace