(2) But not really broken. Only sometimes it seemed that way. (Maybe just a little cracked. But how else would the wine come pouring out so fully?) But then, like a Phoenix. A flower. A zenith. She rises again. And as you grow, she’s letting go even more. Letting go of pieces of you. Of pieces of her. But don’t worry. She’s becoming, too. Becoming more beautiful, more sacred, even while more scarred. Sacrificially somehow, being made more whole.