A new smudge appearing with every sickening touch.
Each night, forcing his way uninvited,
whispering words of evil wrapped in love.
Trust left long ago on little girl feet, fleeing to a safer hiding place.
The destruction he leaves is ugly.
I sweep the shattered pieces into a dark corner and hope no one notices.
Everything changes the day someone appears
and whispers into my soul the hope of pieces getting mended.
She tells me her story and slowly exposes her heart so I can see.
My shaking fingers trace each lovely piece.
Cracks of betrayal filled with forgiveness.
Cracks of mistrust filled with strength.
Cracks of memories filled with healing.
"It's so lovely," I think.
I want this for me.
The process of mending stretches my time and my patience.
I long for a quick fix, and I fill the urge to reach for something shiny.
Those shiny things won't repair my heart and restore its splendor.
So I push on, allowing someone to come and help me sand the rough edges,
filling each crack with healing.
I tell myself I can finally do it.
I can reveal my heart to others and let them marvel at the beauty of its wholeness.
"I am mended," I whisper, "Come and see."