I am breaking, breaking into a million shards. There are tiny fragments and there are big boulders. The tiny pieces are sparkly and precious stones. The boulders are hot lava remnants. They are all the responsibilities that I have carried. The shiny precious shards are the tiny pieces of love, the connections , the web of hearts that I have known. The shiny pieces are my art work and my writing and the fragility that marks my life. They are also sharp - like needles. They cut me , they inject me, they hurt me. I need protection from the shards.
The boulders are heavy and black and grey and maroon. They hurt my feet because I climb all over them. They crowd my life. They hurt my shoulders because they are incredibly heavy. I carry them everywhere and I can't tolerate them anymore. They are not pretty. They bring their own pain
I want to reassemble the pieces but I don't' think it is possible. I am too broken, too shattered, too far away to ever do this. I'm not sure that I can ever be reassembled. Nor am I sure I want to be reassembled
And there is an a sheen of red on the ground, thick, shiny red. It is going to dry to an M and M thick candy shell and the cover is shell to crack again. The shards will be obvious. The web will be there.