The Truth Is This.

 Most of the time, I think I have this whole life thing (kinda sorta) figured out.  But really, when it comes down to the minute-to-minute living, to those tiny portions that sum the whole?  There I have to admit that I have no idea what I'm doing.  I am mostly making things up as I go along. I think we all are.

The more I learn about people- to really understand them what makes them tick, to really get them on a gut level- it's plain to me that everyone holds a story that will break your heart.  Some carry it around in their back pockets, throwing it out for casual dissection.  They toss their story on the table, right next to their keys and coat, then wander off and leave you to riffle awkwardly through the pages.  Others tiptoe carefully, cradling their heartbreak in cupped palms, hoping no one gets close enough to notice the way their shoulders are starting to slouch, how their hands tremble at the weight.   I'm not sure into which category I fall.  Perhaps we all shift and stumble across them both.   

I used to think I knew a lot about a lot of things, but now I realize that I know a little about a lot of things and a lot about a few things and absolutely nothing about many things.  A lot of what I thought I knew has turned out to be false, and much of what I think I know today could be proven wrong tomorrow.  Facts are usually fluid and when it comes right down to it, it's all a matter of perception anyway.  

Nothing is wasted.  Every smile. Every tear. Every whispered longing. Every answered call. Every sin. Every victory. Every kindness.  Every moment of bravery.  Every simple stretch of quiet.  Every rush of adrenaline.  Every regret.  Every truth.  Every mistake.  Every triumph. They all add up to something beautiful, something uniquely yours.   Nothing is wasted.  It all matters.