Building bridges

The ones who didn't know your strength thought the black, oily beast who tore out your insides would end you. But as he crouched over you, ripping and shredding your insides, you fought. You fought so hard it hurt to breathe. Because that sickening beast wanted the very thing that gave you reason to keep breathing - more precious than jewels or gold, and this monster was tearing it away, pulling it apart and throwing it like leftover scraps. But these pieces of you are worth so much more than anyone could ever know.  Still, he gutted you and threw you into the black swampy water while you gasped for breath.

He thought you'd die. He thought you were weak.  He's clever, but he was wrong.

You still had enough to hold onto to want to keep going. And you still had faith. So you stood on the slippery rocks to keep your head above the black, murky water for as long as you could. You'd slip sometimes, choking on the slimy sludge, but always managed to keep breathing.

Sometimes someone would come along to watch. Others would reach a hand for you to hold for a little while, some pulling away because the water scared them. Some left because your fight scared them. Some came to watch you drown. But you didn't.

Eventually you were able to build a raft. It was leaky and slick, but it floated. So you held on tight, guarding what you had left, but you still missed those other pieces of you the beast tore away long ago. The empty spaces scream with pain. 

Then, miraculously, you find your way out of the swamp and into open water.  And you find enough odds and ends to build a boat. Though you can't quite tell if it's a big boat, or if it will even float, but it's ok. Because it's a gift, and it's hope. And if it floats, that boat will rival any yacht in the ocean. And maybe when it does you'll find your missing pieces.