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You, the easy to love, beautiful, brown-eyed man.
As strong and bold as you were adventurous.
I fell for you hard. You shook me to my core. You brought out the best and worst in me. Maybe I loved you with such intensity that you burned out.
You had me, then you abandoned me.
You loved me, then you neglected me.
You helped me blossom, then stepped on me.
You held me, then dropped me.
You loved me, then forgot about me.
You had my whole heart and soul at your disposal. You could snap your fingers, and I’d be right there next to you. You taught me how to love, how to give my all, how to be selfless.
In our intimacy, I’d leave my soul on your bed every time. I’d bear the deepest parts of me so you could kiss them. I’d give into pleasuring you without measure.
I quenched your thirst—until you didn’t want more of me. You stopped touching me, stopped pleasuring me. You forgot what the silhouette of my body looked like. You stopped caressing every inch of me.
You forgot me, left me behind. Left me to be forgotten by you, by everyone who loves you. I love them too; I will miss them. You broke more hearts than your fingers can count.
I shattered. The glass castle I had built for us caved in. It broke into a thousand pieces. I watched it all fall and land at my feet. Shards cutting through me and embedding themselves in my back and getting caught in my hair.
Panicked, I tried to rush to put it back together. At first, the pieces were too big and heavy; I couldn’t carry them. I was exhausted, and the long, hard battle was finally over. I lost.
I went to bed for a week. I went mute. The sun stood still. Only sunset. No sunrise. Nothing made sense. The world was not as it had always been. I couldn’t exist as I was in it anymore.
On the eighth day, the sun came up again. It shone brightly through my curtains, forcing me awake. I got up and dusted some of the glass dust off my shoulders and out of my hair. I looked in the mirror and said to myself, “I will rebuild.”
I put on my best clothes and gathered a few pieces at a time. I couldn’t carry much, but even if I picked up one piece and put it in its place, it was progress. The day ended, and I was grateful.
I nurtured my children, washed their hair with care, making sure no shards would fall on them. They slept peacefully. I watched over them, blessed to have them.
As the days went by, I picked up more pieces. I cut myself a few times. I fell and cried, I screamed. I left it there as a project for another day. I gathered my strength and faced my fears—and suddenly, I wasn’t alone.
All who love me came to help. They held my heart while I picked up my pieces. They gave a hand when the pieces of glass were too big for me; they quietly put them back in place. As if they felt the mourning in my soul. They didn’t let me fall into the shards again. I wouldn’t get cut again, and if I lost balance and fell again, they’d be there to pick me up.
I’m not done picking up the pieces. I don’t know when I will be able to gather the strength for that. They’re still too heavy for me to lift and too fragile to even touch. Meanwhile, I watch them glimmer on the floor as they once did above me. Reminding me of how fragile life itself is and how easily things can change. The sun shines on them, and they shine back to him.
Once glass is broken, it can never be repaired perfectly. Most people opt to throw it away. It’s broken, it’s useless. It’ll never be the same. Who would ever want patched up glass? It would ruin your decor.
Well, I’m not throwing mine away.
I will melt the remains of my glass, all the pieces that I can’t fit back into place. I will mold it into something new. Something I am proud of, something that makes me a better human, lover, mother, woman.
Glass can be recycled over and over again. Remolded into whatever you want it to be. The fire will reinforce the areas that chipped and broke off easy before. What you do with it will outlive you.
For now, my mission is to reinvent. To treasure my broken soul and love hard.
One step at a time, I will rebuild my world.