Confessions of a Glass Swan

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
To destroy beauty purity and even love

Submitted: June 18, 2008

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Submitted: June 18, 2008

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I don’t know why I’m doing this and what’s more I don’t know how to stop. It’s like I’ve become addicted or something except unlike alcohol or drug abusers or even those addicted to food or work or some other arbitrary addiction; yes, unlike them the effects of my addiction are not visible. It’s like cutting myself but with no scars or blood for proof.
 
You see what I do is the equivalent to taking… You know those glass swans? The ones that have every dimension in them and sparkle by shifting through a myriad of prisms that all somehow flare from the very heart of it. Well it’s like taking that glass swan and flinging it against the wall so that it shatters into a million shards.
 
That’s what I do. Destroy whatever is beautiful and pure in my life. I spend my days walking on shards of beauty littered beneath my feet. But, occasionally I find the strength to piece together some of the pieces. Carefully find the cracks, slot them into place like a great puzzle of light love and happiness.
 
But then like one addicted the need rises and I pull back my arm… I suppose a thought lingers between the moment I’m about to fling the swan and its impact with the wall. A thought where there is the choice all addicts face, to slip back into the dark grip of addiction or to step away from it and pick up the shards. I never step away… The swan hits the wall, shards rain down on me and crunch beneath my feet.
 
Except perhaps once… The day I threw your swan against the wall. Oh it shattered like all the others except this time a shard from it sunk into my flesh sailed past my ribcage and became lodged in my heart. Its still a there a dull throb of pain, a reminder of what I destroyed
 

I know the question you want to ask; the question that holds you silent. Why do I do this? How can I destroy all that is beautiful, all that is pure, all that is love? Sometimes I think it’s to protect myself from all those things. Other days I think it’s a fault in me a defect something perverted. But most days, most days I think it’s because I’m like that swan just as easily broken…


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