The Nights are the Hardest
"The nights are the hardest," she’d said. She was right.
Night came. So did total destruction.
Dark winds howled, pushed me, dragged me off my perch, down with a thud. Clay skin cracked, pieces of me spread across cold cement floors. Then came the winged creatures. They tore at me, scratching and ripping away until I was exposed. Night came after me, like a chisel, chipping into me until I was bloody and sore.
But in this pain, this sadness, this utter destruction, there's something hopeful. My brokenness for the first time makes me wonder, What great work of art I am being re-chiseled into? How much stronger might I be when I finally fill in the cracks on my broken, dry skin?