Remade

I cry a lot easier these days. From wounds that have yet to heal, from old wounds that have been broken open. 

I do not sniffle them down or push them away, unless for just a moment to arrive at a more appropriate place to let them flow.

I have not allowed my heartache to make me bitter, though I hurt. 

And sometimes I allow that hurt to overtake me, to bring me to my knees, because I know that in order for a broken bone to heal it needs to be reset and sometimes that is the most painful thing of all. 

So I hurt and I ache, and sometimes everything in me shakes. But I am being broken to be repaired. To be made new. 

I am ruined to be remade.