"when fiction dances with humanity
"She'd trip up often, when she was aware of the absent obstacle, the soaring strength of her heart beating its steady, fluid rhythm even at the prod of old emotional bullies.
There was a frenzy only for a split second, as she checked herself to be sure the obstacle truly had disappeared. Her heart didn't wrestle like it used to, and she could hardly pinpoint when that change had occurred.
Her tears were nowhere to be found when old pricks tried to draw blood. One blink, two blinks, and she kept walking forward without another thought to the thing that once made her wretch, sob, and claw from her soul to her skin, feeling raw and beaten. It was only a brush of a shadow now, a flit of memory, a single cloud passing by on a rather cloudless day. For a second, the subtlety would usher up fear that her heart might be callous and hard, but then, she'd remember the journey, the growth, and the things that had died to give her a second chance to live with hope.
Maybe strength truly did arise from pain.
Maybe beauty was the treasure left after the ashes.
Maybe was too weak.
She knew. Strength was beauty, and beauty was left after the ashes fled to their rightful place again. With the wind, the breath of God blew them away to show the gem He'd never abandoned, He'd never forsaken, but the treasure He refined through the pain and sorrow."