We are the ReArrangers. The space between a thought and an idea. We are that scramble of words put on the page, before it makes sense. The blob of paint before it makes a picture. The jumble of moves before it makes a dance. Sound before music. A face in a frame that's not quite a portrait. We try, we make, we think, we stare: and, still, we change, we scramble. We toss, we turn, we wait. We walk away to return again. We are both the rearranged and the rearranger, the maker. We want our silence to make sense, but it doesn't. We want the frame to fit, but it won't. We want to understand the words, but we don't. But still, we persevere, we dream. We knock on doors, chase the stairs, paint the walls. We take flight in our closets. We are the rearrangers-- And we build, we find, we create, we are- home.
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