You’re alive. You’re breathing. You’ve gathered together the remnants of your life—beautiful fragments meant for a new piece of art. Curiosity is returning. Sure, you still trace the scars with the tip of your heart every now and then. To remember is okay. To sorrow and rejoice in the remembering all at once is okay, too. And, then you begin to prepare a place for it to reside. After all of the digging around, you find some roots remain. So, you water those along with the new life searching underneath. You’ve just heard yourself laugh and the sound of it startles you, reminds you of what pieces and parts haven’t changed. It’s called healing. It’s called hope. This is life after the ashes.