Shattered Glass

The vase cracked a long time ago. It held the flowers of my youthful wonder and the possibilities on the horizon. The view changed from the moment of impact. The solid container so sure of its ability to hold both nourishment and dream developed just the tiniest crack, a hairline fracture, from a cold shoulder, a cruel comment dismissive of the vision in my eye, the blossoming in my heart. Although young, one thing I knew was the pain. I also knew how to say no, and no more. But, the vision was still there and the budding flower wanted to open. So, I sealed the cracks still hopeful of the dream. But, they corroded, branching off to form a mosaic that was the picture of a melodrama.

Walking away wasn’t easy but, you put one foot in front of the other and you’re bound to make ground. The pain faded, the memory subsided, and the leaky vase held new water and a fresh batch of dreams. The crevices went unnoticed, the patchwork was secure and stable. The question is how the fractures began to leak again. How the water that kept my dreams alive began to slowly slip through cracks that had gone unnoticed for many years.

Along the same path the familiar aches that had never really resurfaced suddenly needed my attention. Did I hear that right? Was it my mistake? Was it a misunderstanding? I found myself returning to the motions, the moves that I made after the collision. In the aftermath of a physical accident the injuries are plain to see and not ignorable. I buried my emotional injuries in new activities, people and places, until it was gone from my awareness.

I didn’t even know the fissures were still there. As I examined them I could see they were in every move I made while I still clung to the idea of forgiveness, and the person my heart could not help but to reach for. An apology unnoticed, a heart that reached back to mine but mine was too bruised to believe. Maybe the magic was just gone, or maybe I needed to fight a little longer or a little harder.

My younger self only knew what my heart was telling me. It told me I wanted him to hold onto the person I believed he was, and at the same time it was telling me it hurt, the best thing to do was to move on. Regardless of the hope I clung to the sun barely peered past the clouds, I could not continue. I never regretted it or thought to regret it as every animal must protect their heart for survival, until the cracks came bursting open. The first kiss, buried under a thoughtless remark, dreams we shared abandoned by the needs of the moment. Maybe it’s retrospective, maybe its healing wounds I didn’t know I still had. In retracing the corroded lines I saw them in a new light and I found something that I didn’t before, I finally found forgiveness.

The vase isn’t what it used to be, many things have changed, the person I am today isn’t the person I was then. But the glass still holds the water that feeds my inspiration, my hopes, and creativity. My container remains ready for a new batch of daisies or roses to reach for the slightest ray of sun peeking past the clouds, or barreling through the sky. There’s not a crevice that destroyed it, no matter of the hidden path of fractures, and it is all the better for the review.