The damage
Everything ages or dies out
when you do not take care of it.
cracking any second,
Just like a glass cup would do.
The moment you release the grip from the white glass
it shakes and mingles into one pile
like black ashes in the darkness
that cannot be collected back to the way it was
some of them shining solemnly
Knowing it cannot be put back like the way it was,
but instead with cracks and lines that you cannot mend,
just like your dead, damaged heart
too late to mend or put it back to where it was left at
the feeling of emptiness and sorrow
or maybe relief and satisfaction,
leaving it up to you in the end
all depending on what you would do,
whether to litter it or treasure it.
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