I have been put back together.

I am falling apart.

Every piece of me is falling apart.

My skin is flaking off and my bones are turning to dust. My eyes are drying up and my lips have turned to rock. I sit in a small room in my mind. My heart is crumbling and my time grows ever shorter in this place of deterioration.

So little of me is left that when I look in the mirror it is as if I am looking at a stranger. I say words to this person and wave my frail sticklike hands at him but he doesn’t respond. He just tells me to die and leave and run and go and depart from this place.

But now, as I lie here in the filth of this dying body, I am whispered something. This other inside me tells me to stand up. From the wreckage of my skeleton is birthed something to which I am completely unfamiliar. He looks like me but it he is not me. He talks like me but he is not me. He walks and strides and eats and sleeps and kisses like me but he is not me.

But suddenly my eyes begin to fail and my lungs start to crumble and the fullness of my breath fails me and I begin to die. This other then stands over me and looks at me and smiles and touches my paper like eyes lids and shuts them only to have them crumble away into nothingness. My last breath fails for the last time and I am gone.

But then, as if newness and birth were my definition, I am here. My eyes are wet and my bones are taught and stiff and my tongue reels inside my mouth within its saliva. I can feel my legs working and I can feel my hands beginning to grasp and I walk slowly over to the mirror. As I look into it I see me, but not me. I see a version of me that is so different in so many ways. And I love this version of me.

O the work that He has done.

I have been put back together.

I am put back together again.