Once you’ve broken to pieces, the luxury of imagining yourself unbreakable evaporates. Your outlook changes, not for the better in every way but in most ways, I think. Does compassion ever come easy? Where are those with no need of mercy to find it within themselves when someone desperately needs it? I still bear scars sustained in the casting-about of a perfect storm, but the hit to my pride, having believed myself whole and above certain lows, has never scarred over or scabbed. I figure it never will. I hope it never will. It’s not a bad idea for wounded pride to bleed for a lifetime. Let
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