You hold a vase in your hands.
And you squeeze it tighter,
just to see how much pressure
it can withstand.
Cracks form along it,
you don't notice.
harder and harder,
untill finally the shards of glass
spray all over the floor.
You realize what you've done.
And offer to glue it back together.
You don't know that I would rather leave it broken,
and remember what it was.
than to fix it and see the broken places for as long as I live.
You buy a new one,
but it's meaning is lost,
there's no memory to this new one,
nothing to fill it with.
But yet, I live,
On, and on.
Do you realize yet?
The broken shards of glass...
pieces of my heart?
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