Two broken pieces.

A quiet whisper of hope I hear in the distance as I walk towards those open arms. I'm so frightened. Safe arms that had once embraced me turned and begun to threaten my safety. How am I to trust again?

I walk closer, but slower, as I build up my wall. I will let you embrace me but you will not have my trust. At least that is how it began.

So here I was, shaking and afraid at the open arms that were there to love me. A dog cowering at the kind hand.

I have reason to be afraid, and I have reason to run. But I choose to keep walking, towards these arms that promise me a haven and a shelter from the storms of my past. Where else am I to go? I have felt alone for so long, maybe these arms will deliver me a touch that will not leave a mark on my skin but instead a mark on my soul.

Step by step, beat my beat, the drum of my heart increases and I can barely breathe. My fragile arms reach out to meet the fingers outstretched towards me.

They are warm, and soft, and strong. In a moment our fingers are intertwined and I can feel the heat from his body beginning to rush through mine as though I am recharging. And what surprises me the most, is that although there is instant connection, there is no pull. No force. I can step back and let go or I can move in, or I can stay exactly where I am. I have choice.

What a strange feeling it is to have options. What do I do? I feel afraid to move in, but afraid to leave. The electricity running through my body at just the smallest touch is undeniably authentic.

I take just a few more small steps forward, and I feel the hand of protection gently sliding up my arm. Why do I feel so safe but yet I am so afraid? I keep walking. The hand slides over my shoulder and around onto my back as I am slowly embraced into the arms I was so terrified to touch.

My body began to shiver, and my blood began to run so deeply that my body became a river of emotion and fear until I erupted out of the warmth of these arms and back into the cold.  

Forcing my way back into the open just in case, because the arms, although they felt safe, might come close to my neck or hold me too tight and I may suffocate. What if it's a trick? What if they are trying to use safety as a lure? 

I watch with a haunting stillness as the arms rise again, outstretched towards me to welcome me back in. Time feels as though it is frozen as we both stand there in silence. One, with outstretched arms, and the other, shivering and cowering from the kind hand. I remember that electricity. I remember that warmth. I remember that feeling of safety. And it draws me close.

I walk, I touch, and I trust. These arms embraced me and held me as though I was something to be cherished. I looked up into the eyes of the one who is so desperate to love me, and I see a myself, looking right back at me. I see a person who is broken. A person who is afraid. A person who once cowered at the kind hand, but instead of allowing that to be the cause of a solitary life, chose to become that kind hand. 

The more that I saw the brokenness, the more I was drawn to hold on. And I did. And so did he. 

And here we are today. Two wonderful messes holding onto each other to create something beautiful. Two broken pieces that together make a whole. And the world could not separate us from each others arms. Together we learned to love again, to feel again.

And together we remain. Kintsugi.