I thought I’d imagined the blue light, at first. And as it turns out, I had. But what I’ve come to see, rather come to learn, is that we don’t imagine things in vain. Our minds work in these crazy, nonsensical ways to try and help us heal, and we just have to step back and let it do its thing. Let it run. Let our hands run all over the paper, get all coated in the blue of wet ink.

I’ve only just begun to recover, and though that means I’m far from understanding “the whole me,” as I’d once called it, I do feel a shift has occurred in me, in my mind.

I’m ready now, finally, to start putting the pieces together. At last, I can do as Lizzie did that day in the sandbox: shake those golden grains off the silk of my skin, clean out my vicious little tears.