By Aalam Singh Batth.
We hold our relationships through hands made of glass, these hands store all the precious memories made with the other hand of glass. The glass is tough, durable and shiny, its very durable from the outside. However, it’s very fragility on the inside depends on the nature of the relationship, if one hand loosens the grip, the glass falls, it breaks depending on the cohesion of the relationship with the other person. Sometimes all it takes is one fall for the glass to shatter into millions of powder like substances, making it very difficult to distinguish memories from the broken pieces. A glass that breaks after repeated falls hurts the most, as it breaks into bigger distinguishable pieces of memories.
Everything breaks when it falls be it on the inside or outside. I knew it each time I had loosened my grip on the glass, however this time the dent shattered into pieces, I saw blood on my hands, I screamed till I was red and my scream sounded like a radio lost between frequencies. Can’t love without destruction, how sick of me to think I was perfect. Blood on my hands, I try to pick up the glasses, they were sharp as knives and all the memories were glistening from the broken shards. I felt that the people who held my glass hand, were to good for me and that they would never leave, how hypocritically selfish of me. As, I pick up the broken glasses, I see my hands breaking into fragments of glasses, I touch my face, it has cracked upon asymmetrically. Now I find my grip on myself loosening, The tears stop subsiding as the broken glass stores it before it falls on the ground. Some mistakes are irreparable, consequences, what are mistakes without them? As I disintegrate into pieces, I see someone pick me up, tape me up and lock me in a cabinet, along with other pieces of glass too fragile to be ever trusted again.
