Wildly looking about, wondering what to do next. Hands cold, body numb. I turned to something I hadn't trusted completely before. Giving myself away bit by bit. Hesitant trust, but wanting to trust completely.
I slowly allow myself to break-down. Tears streaming down my face as I feel him gently take my heart into his hands. I can feel his presence saddened by the state of disrepair I have let myself live in. He holds my heart, and slowly starts to tear away the band-aid's.
Its torturous. All those wounds, left untended, festering, have grown into something much larger than it should have been. The hurt, the memory. The agony of losing myself into something I know I'm not. The torture of finding myself again. Dying to myself.
He handles my heart gently, so gently I know he loves me more than anything. He whispers promises into my ear, saying I'm loved. I'm forgiven. My past doesn't matter.
He isn't finished with me yet. Everyday he pulls away my hands as I try to temporary repair myself, asking me to allow him to heal me. I can't heal myself. Its an everyday struggle to give myself away. Its an everyday struggle to love myself.
But through his strength, I am made strong. I will continue with this life.
I refuse to give up.