“Fragments of the Soul”

Emma wasn't looking for it. She had come to Alex's place with the intent of returning a scarf they'd left at their house, nothing more. But when she stepped into the dimly lit room, her eyes fell on the open notebook lying on the edge of the desk.

"Alex, you left this out," she said, picking it up carefully, the weight of its importance not lost on her.

Alex turned sharply from where they stood by the window. "Wait—"

But Emma had already glimpsed the words written inside. Her eyes moved over the lines, the poetry pulling her in with each verse.

I'm like a vase—fragile,

Unique, and special in its frailty.

The vulnerability in those words hit her immediately. Alex watched her in silence, their expression shifting between panic and resignation. They'd never intended for anyone to see those pages.

"This is… beautiful," Emma said softly, looking up at them. Her voice carried no judgment, only wonder.

Alex rubbed the back of their neck, their dark eyes avoiding hers. "It's just… something I write to clear my head. It's not meant for anyone to read."

Emma smiled gently and placed the notebook back on the desk, her hand lingering on its cover. "Maybe not, but it says so much about you. About how you see the world… and yourself."

She paused before adding, "You write like someone trying to piece themselves back together. But it doesn't feel broken—it feels alive. Hopeful."

Alex frowned, crossing their arms. "Hopeful? I don't know about that."

Emma stepped closer, her presence grounding them as always. "Maybe you don't see it yet, but it's there. In the way you talk about God making you whole again. In how you describe rising anew, even when everything feels heavy. It's like you're telling a story that hasn't ended yet."

They didn't respond immediately, their fingers tightening slightly around their sleeves. "It's just words."

Emma shook her head, her voice soft but firm. "No, Alex. It's you. And you're more than 'just words.'"

For a moment, the tension in the room lingered before Alex exhaled, letting their shoulders relax. "You think so?"

Emma nodded. "I know so."

Alex gave her a small, almost shy smile. "Thanks… for not making it weird."

Emma chuckled. "It's not weird, Alex. It's human."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, the room settling into a peaceful quiet. For the first time, Alex felt like their words had been seen—not as a confession to be feared, but as a part of themselves that someone understood.

Alex sat on the floor, their notebook open, its pages littered with fragmented thoughts and half-formed prayers. The dim glow of a bedside lamp illuminated the words they had just finished writing—a collection of metaphors that felt closer to their soul than anything else ever had.

They ran their fingers over the lines, the ink still drying:

I'm like a vase—fragile, unique, and special in its frailty…

Their thoughts drifted as they read the verses aloud, each word spilling like a confession. The vase—the delicate balance between beauty and brokenness—was an image they knew all too well. Their life had felt like that: cracks running deep, yet somehow, the pieces still held together by something greater than themselves.

I'm like a butterfly, weightless…

They paused, their breath hitching. The butterfly felt distant, almost like a dream. Alex knew what it meant to drift, to shimmer in fleeting moments of connection, yet always return to the weight of reality.

When their gaze reached the final stanza, their voice faltered:

I'm like a book, forgotten on a dusty shelf…

The weight of those words hung heavy in the air. They closed the notebook and pressed it against their chest, letting the silence wrap around them.

"Amen," Alex whispered, their voice barely audible.

It wasn't just a prayer—it was a declaration. Each line was a reminder of who they were and who they could be, even in the face of brokenness. Their fragility, their thorns, their forgotten stories—all of it carried meaning. And in that meaning, Alex found hope.