Taking it back

Continuation of (invisible breaking point).

They’d thought themselves broken, defeated, shaped and changed, cracked and smoothed out again until they weren’t themselves anymore - but when they get out they realize: that’s not quite true.

Through it all, they kept themselves together. They healed what they could, dealt with what they couldn’t. Small attempts, not relentless - but unceising in their tendency to crop up again just as the whunper thought them rooted out. Through all that - through the pain and the humiliation and the incessant insisting that this was all they’d ever get, this would be all there ever was from now on - they tried. And they kept trying. For a future - an unlikely, improbable future, but a future they could never quite get out of their head. A hope that couldn’t quite be snuffed out.

And as they look back on their scars and remember how they got them - remember the pain and the anguished screams and the crying, and the begging - oh god the begging, they wish that hadn’t happened - they also remember this: how they fell down seven times and got up eight. How they took what was dealt them and then continued with what they were doing before. Their crying wasn’t a failure. It wasn’t breaking. It was persisting.