Time stops.

The colors fade.

Red fires of passion become ashes of black.

Your center, your core is ripped from its cage

and shatters like glass upon the floor.

You pick it up. Piece, by piece.

Each clear shard, a memory.

It would hurt,

except you’re nothing but a shell.

Unable to feel.

Unable to hurt.

Unable to care.

You have no desire,

nor do you possess the effort

to find your heart again.

And then.

At last.

You conjure the courage

and the will

to rebuild.

You pick up the pieces.

You glue them back in place.

It’s not whole,

but it’s complete.

Everyone has their scars.

Slowly, tears of joy replace tears of anguish.

They heal.

They wash over the past pain.

Not erasing, but deadening.

Each day,

each beat,

you grow stronger.

A tiny ember begins to glow.

A flush sets in.

Pale at first.

Increasing steadily.

Can it be true?

As easy as breathing, a new flare of color emerges.

All it takes is

Time.