Some parts are chipped and swept away like accumulating past years dust.
Oh god, I have so much dust on each piece that meets the next.
I was a puzzle made of glass, an enigma too troubling to solve, so most people just took the pieces they seemed fitting.
They never cared to see how they would fit together whole, and I knew myself that I would never be whole.
Fragility breaks under pressure, but once broken it can endure it all.
I don’t care enough to artificially mend the pieces I have saved.
I don’t care enough to try to conserve the pieces I have.
Broken objects never work like they used to.

— by me (via saccharine-sun)