I was broken, shattered, and ground into the earth by the heels of once friends. And there in Earth I healed. The shards of my old self became good seeds. Then, the rain came to water them, new green shoots emerged. I grew back better, stronger and more robust because I embraced love - love of myself, of family and of nature.
I was one of the broken, yet through the art of creative writing, I healed and became a healer. Art does that. It is the light that guides. It is the hand that awaits yours. It is the path that you can walk each day until you find that your soles have become comfortable upon it. And in this way you build the best and brightest part of you. You become a safe harbour for others, you show them how to become as well as you. Broken is temporary. It passes as the years pass. Those who chose emotional indifference, those are the ones that remain broken, as functional they can appear.
It is so easy to break a person, it takes so very long to repair. Yet, from experience I can tell you this. I healed and became better over the course of years. The one that broke me sunk lower and became a Gollum. I say this not for vengeance, for I have no guilt or shame in the matter, the sort of feelings that seek such things. I say it because you have to realise that at times they whom appear broken are actually the heroes of future times, that they are worth the effort to save and rebuild.
I take that part of me that is broken and make it a ghost, a ghost that falls away and becomes nothing. What remains is myself, strong and ready to move on. For this is the power of love, the power to kiss goodbye and move on with grace and certainty, eyes forward and heart ready for what goodness comes my way.
Yolanda held up the coffee grinder, the lid bound tight with yellow caution tape she'd rummaged out of the garage. Her mom frowned, "I'd bet you money that doesn't work anymore."
Yolanda placed it on the machine and in an instant the noise of the traffic outside was drowned out by the machine. "See, not broken, plus it's twenty seven percent cooler; no extra charge." She jutted out her hip for her right hand to fall on.
Mom developed one of her lop-sided grimace-smiles and raised her drawn-on eyebrows. "Hmmm, twenty seven percent cooler and fifty eight percent crapper."
Yolanda burst out into one of her roaring belly laughs, "Yeah, and what was the bet worth?"
Mom let out a snort, "Nothin', it'll be broken by Tuesday."
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.