It came to me as I walked out the door.

My heart, I probably forgot
on his doorstep.
Or in the pocket of his favourite sweatshirt,
or in the first strains of his voice,
singing the song of my heart,
for my heart.

What does it matter?
It's all just shards anyway.
Shards hurt.
They pierce your skin,
as they do mine.
But in me, they evoke a flood.
and in you,
a string broken,
and nought else.

It has been my sweetest downfall,
watching you tear at life.
Colliding with fire.
running headlong toward the plunge
Crashing with my walls,
beaten back by catastrophic emotion.
You sighed,
and walked
and watched.
All I had to do was break down,
and you'd be standing there.

The shards you did not pick up.
No.
The shards you swept away
under the languid carpet.
they stayed there,
blameless.
For it is the fall that caused the shards
and not the other way round.

"The shards will help you feel."
I said.
"No, the shards you can keep."
A sharp shake, 'no'
Maybe he does not want to remember
that perhaps a quiet word,
a secret smile
would have seen the shards intact where
glittering stones and fresh satin
could not.

What does it matter?
The silence isn't too loud.
The void isn't too full.
The cold isn't too harsh.
The tear isn't too sad.

What does it matter?
To you,
or
to the shards.