Love healed me.
Sometimes poured out generously,
like the snow that covers everything in its path as it falls,
until what was there before has been transformed into
something unrecognizable,
something pure.
Love healed me.
Sometimes with strings attached,
doled out sparingly
as though there is not enough,
as though the love that is given to me robs someone else.
I snatched those bits of love tossed my way and
gathered them together until there was enough to cover me and my brokenness.
Love healed me.
Imperfect love.
Whether abundant or scant,
overwhelming me or nibbling at the edges of my brokenness,
all love heals.
Madeline Bialecki 