Time

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It sure has been some time.

Time since I sat before this blank page that used to bring me such comfort. 

Time since I shared deep feelings..

Time since I opened the curtain into my heart, for all to see.


Time ticks by.

Ever quickly.


They say that time heals all wounds...

I think anyone who has suffered a broken heart, knows thats not the truth,

Who are they anyway?

Time forms.

Like the hands of the potter...

moving,

moulding,

squeezing,

pinching.

As the clay spins,

the potter changes it.

It isn't healed,

it is...

becoming something new.


That is what time does.

It changes us.

Into something new.

Forms.

Different.


Pressure is no stranger to me.

My life has been woven with the thread of pain,

of squeezing discomfort.

Tension.

Difficulties,

Heartache.


I recently found myself in thought about who I was.

Who I have been..

The little girl,

the teenager,

the new wife,

the young mother,

the hospital mom,

the friend,

the estranged,

the sister.


I.

Have.

Changed.


I am new.

I am different.

My clay has been formed into a new creation,


Not fixed.

Different.


I still feel broken sometimes...

sad.

lost.

without.


But the new me,

the new moulded piece of pottery,

can hold the water.


The cracks from the pain of the years...

new clay has filled them in.

Pressed firmly into the spaces,

hurting sometimes as it fills them in.


Sometimes the contents make their way through...

they find a weak spot,

dripping out of the cup...


But the potter doesn't stop.

Repairing,

changing.

Adapting.


As I type,

I think about the many pages of scribbled thoughts and feelings that have filled my journal these last few years.


Writing is one thing that has not left.

Just changed.


And.

For a time...

it was only for me.


Between the clay,

and the potter.

And.

The wheel of life. 


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