How could you not know I am fragile? I need to be handled with care. You were careless and dropped me from your hands. How could you not know that I would break? Perhaps like the rest, you missed the red, boldly written warning that read ‘fragile’ when you received me.
You pieced all my broken pieces together again, but the cracks on me are still visible. How could you not know that no bottle of glue would ever be able to put me back as I was before?
One of these days you are going to hold me again, and this time around I won’t feel safe in your hands. Maybe that’s how it should be. I can’t afford another slip-up, carelessness from you.
Another wrong move from you and I’ll be scattered and shattered on the floor. You will come to pick me up, and this time you will be gentle with me, avoiding hurting yourself from my brokenness. How could you not know that since I am already broken it would kill me to watch you being so careful with me, something I never knew you to be?
But I would be there on the floor and like always you would have that bottle of glue with you, trying to fix me up one more time. Unfortunately this time around, there will be no saving me. How could you not know that this time I would have had enough of being let out of your hands?
For the first time in all the years I spent in your presence, I would get to hear you say you loved me. But it would be too little too late for that. Like all the others that suffered the same fate as me, I’ll be thrown in the rubbish bin, and soon be replaced by another.
Tell us what you think: Have you ever felt like the writer? How did you overcome it?