Love is like kintsugi

Love is like kintsugi

We are all broken fragments inside, and we try to find the right fit in other people’s souls. Can you imagine picking up the fragments of another person, one who had willingly, or even worse unwillingly, threw the vase that held their life onto the ground, only to see that the glue does not stick?

What’s in the glue?

There are golden moments of lacquer inside. They stick us together. Then there are the lines that bind us. It could be where we are broken. It could be where we fell. But put our pieces together and we become complete.

What happens if it’s not enough? How much of this glue do you have in common with each other? What if they don’t mix? What if it expires? What if the gold goes away?

What of the fragments?

When two pieces meet each other, they sense presence from a distance. We judge and determine fit, and until point of impact we won’t know what will happen.

As they merge, they fuse; memories become intertwined, experiences become One. On by one, fragments come together. They change their names: the connection becomes whole.

Some may fall of, or discarded for the sake of creating form. Love then is perfect heart with imperfect curvature.

What do we see?

Within it, we see the birth of a future with someone beside us. We see possibilities, we see tears from the joy of being together with someone.

Outside of it, we revel: they hold each other, hand in hand like golden glue, walking down the aisles of bliss. Each step is in unison, and clarity lays the carpet they walk upon.

On the surface, we assume their imperfections. They show: the cracks are covered and we worry if it will break. If we hold them, will they snap off the handle? The trust is in the holder, and that is mutually agreed between both parties.

When does it end?

It ends when the glue dries up offset. When the fragments refuse to cooperate. And that is when the perfect heart starts to crack.

No longer do our ideals hold up, as fights start to resume, and the weakness in the pottery spreads across the form.

But there are times when the perfect heart needs to be set down. The glue still stays strong, and the fragments are kept alive, but sometimes, irrelevance comes rolling in. We might not want this anymore. There might be a new chapter waiting for us.

The glue dries up by choice. It ends when we decide it to. Even if love evolves over time: from a hurricane of feeling to a stable cloud of meadow wind, it ends when we choose to walk away.

Is it worth pursuing love?

Yes, I think so. The imperfections etch themselves in our lives. Our bodies are designed to remember as much as possible, both the good and bad, so as to hone the journey in which we choose to walk upon. Pure gold.

That’s what we wake up for, right? To find the right memories to remember.