Fragments

In that passing ship of all the lives that have been and will be, I swear I saw my own—infinitesimal among the legions, yet present, conscious, bound up in an anxious course towards a destination I long to reach and never reach. A mist concealed the ship, but for an instant I gazed upon what had to be God holding eternity. He outstretched His hand and held it open—in it were fragments of time. As if thunder to lightning, seconds passed and I heard, “Fragments are made to be whole.”