healing.

"Hold this?"

holding the broken pieces of something that once vaguely resembled my heart.

shattered.

broken.

bruised.

pieces slipping out of my hands.

offering them up to him, praying, hoping, longing he wouldn't let go, only for the pieces to break apart even more.

one by one giving the pieces to him, thoughts running in my head a million miles an hour, fear that the pieces would be broken.

relief washed over me.

the pieces were still intact, and were tenderly held in his hands.

days, weeks, months years passed.

he held the pieces ever so gently, nurtured them, took care of them.

as the days went by and the years flew past,

ever so slowly,

the pieces came back together.

and my heart was healed again.