she gathers the tales told, the tales left untold, and the tales intuitively understood, and intersperses them with sighs of recognition and smiles of understanding, before she slides them onto a stubborn but lenient thread.
there will be wholeness before she is done.
every added colour firms her resolve, and even the tiniest touches of brightness nudge her into certainty.
recovery can be an art.
and nothing heals like friendships do.