THIS YEAR

You tipped it all out this year, my whole life in its little box. You emptied it out, onto the floor, you shook, and shook and shook till all the tiny pieces lay on the floor. Then you picked up the box and you folded it up and threw it away.

My life, all squashed in that box lay on the floor at your feet. You picked up the little pieces, the broken pieces and you put them back together. You pulled the thorns and the broken glass from where they had been poking.

You found pieces I’d never seen before, big pieces brightly coloured and new, you watered them and made them grow, they were a gift you had hidden for just the right time.

You unravelled the folded fabric, that lay untouched, shook out the dust and put it in the sun, the colours filled the room and my heart swelled.

You picked up the dead and dying, the rotting and old, you carved away until only good remained, you changed its shape and gave it new purpose.

You poured, poured your love over my little pile, till it soaked through, through my eyes that never cried, till it rained through ever conversation and over every cup of tea.

You took away my box and let in the light, you took away the box so I could stretch out my aching muscles, you took away the box to open my eyes.

I’m terrified and standing on the edge, clinging with every part to only you, to your promise to never let me go, to your promise of colours, of more.