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