So I pick up the pieces of me from where they sparkle in the mud beneath the first strings of morning sunlight, choosing the biggest ones--the important ones. The ones that reflect who I am, who I was, who I hope to be. My past, my present, and the future that will be mine. I leave behind the ones too small to salvage, the ones too painful to bring along. And these leave holes throughout me, holes I may not ever fill with anything other than hope and faith that one day this will all be all right. This emptiness is acceptable because I am still alive and going over the edge did not break me beyond repair. I leave those pieces where they are, behind in a place I'll never go, a place I never belonged. Perhaps some day you'll look down on them and be able to remember me fondly, once your shock is gone; when you're in a better place. And I take a deep breath, and I wonder where I've been, where I'll go, and who I'll be. And the truth did set me free, even though it had to break me first.