It starts out whole, crystal clear and flawless. It begins. It is honed and shined and unblemished. You made it and it’s beautiful. And then it comes, the first little crack. You said that and they knew what you were doing. A small occlusion from the jarring. But it wasn’t that bad. The sun still glints the same way. The ribbon of refracted light is still perfect.
And the light bends. The rays just don’t fall the same. You’re losing colors..violet.. blue.. fading in your rakishly high tales. It’s still shiny and see through. It’s still beautiful. It’s still a treasure. The weight and heft are left. The shape is still smooth. You can see the ribbon in there but we all think it’s okay. It’s just the tiniest bit of damage. And you’re sorry. That was a one time thing, right? We were just scared or sorry or confused or not ready. We were thoughtless.
The little bitty cracks add up though. Each one is like a teeny ball peen hammer.. ting… ting…
It’s a small deep crevice there in the middle. The rainbow leaves. But it’s still bright. It’s still light. It slides and tumbles in your hand. We whistle in our fake nonchalance. It’s fine. It’s fine. Still so smooth. But is that a rift?
The rift has reached the edge and you can feel the craze. Your fingers worry it like a loose tooth. They run over it and over it but they can’t make it smooth. It’s there. And you’re losing light. It’s getting trapped in there, bouncing around off of the things you broke, the jagged edges in there. You tell another one. It’s easier now and though the consequences are more dire, you’re less concerned. Do you not see it? Or do you just care less?
CRACK….. snap… tinkle.
A sliver is shaved off and falls. The rift has veins in several directions now, so much closer to the surface, and the ragged creviced edge has its own facets. Do you not know how to stop it? Do you not see it? A whole side is gray and lifeless, unreachable. The light that enters mostly dies. And it feels inevitable, doesn’t it? You say another one, another. You can’t even smile while you do it anymore, can you? Do you shrug? Do you sting? Is it like you can’t help yourself? Or are you numb?
We point our palms at the ground and our walk works to pulverize the shards.