Again. Naturally.

I fell asleep happy. I felt right. Optimistic. I woke up happy. I savored the happiness for a moment. It had a strange taste, too sweet to be deserved, delicate and overwhelming in the same, but for a moment, I let it wash over me, indulging, completely, shamelessly.

Let's leave it there. I don't want it to come down. I don't want it to break again. Picture a mug on a table, carelessly swept aside. It falls slowly, endless infinities between it and the floor, its own inevitable end. Picture it, now just an inch above the floor. The surrounding people flinch, grit their teeth, suck in air, waiting for it. Don't be them. Don't picture it shattering. Just leave it there, frozen in time, suspended an inch away.



This isn't new. We're clumsy people. We drop things, we break things. Whether we mean to or not. Things end up broken. It's inevitable.


Picture the mug again. Let it fall now. It's ok. It'll be ok. Let it touch the floor, watch it shudder as the impact rips through it. Watch the cracks grow, watch it break into pieces. Watch it shatter. The pieces tear apart, the mess expands. And it's broken.