the windows to the soul
it blinks
screeching glass bending for the simplest movement
the air inside is muggy
any the pane begs to break
to release
years
centuries
the air has waited
never breaking
the glass always strong
by now
all that is left is the dust.
the pane shrieks
screaming to break
for the glass to stop holding on.
it wasn't quite a home run
the pane creaks
the glass speaks
rattling to the ground.
the dam overflowing
the baseball rips through the window
tearing it in half,
then thrown back
avoiding the shards of glass
the puddles of tears
chips of glass sprinkle
drip
crashing and cutting those who try to mend her
jagged pieces of her eyes
bleed with the kindness that comes
with saving those that are gone behind the window
with the broken walls come
thicker walls
more layers
prepared for the next baseball
ready to reject it and throw it back harder than it was tossed before
once broken
the window gets stronger on the outside
new glass
but the pane is still weak
and breaking
so they shut the window tighter
so no warmth
no wind can cradle it
no breeze dares
to come close to the broken glass.
“Wish I could be a fragile piece of glass to accept my brokenness.”
-Munia Khan