Mending what is broken.

To mend what is broken is not a simple task.

I talk. I cry. I think. I grieve. I laugh. I toughen up.

I crack open.

And then I start all over again. 

It is not as simple as simply putting all the pieces back together again.


The pieces never fit together the right way to begin with.

They jammed together, years ago. Sharp edge on sharp edge.

If you looked at my pieces, you probably saw what looked like a whole. At least, on the outside.

But inside, the cracks–big and small–were deepening.

And one day, they simply broke me open.

My spirit? It was vulnerable. Exposed.

Bruised and battered, and completely unprepared for the real battle that lie ahead.

The journey began.

Healing became the goal. The mystical, glimmering prize at the end of what was a mucky trek through every ugly experience that I ever lived.

I learned.

I hurt.

I learned some more.

Slowly, one piece at a time, I am putting myself back together. The end product will not be perfect. And it will not arrive soon.

But, it will be a masterpiece.


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