a glass. crystal clear. capable of holding so much. yet so fragile.
you could fill it up, and you can see how empty or full it is. you can fill it as you deem fit.
and even if it were to be filled to the brim, it wouldn’t break. what you fill, will only spill. overflow.
yet even if were to be empty. void of anything and everything.
tip it over the edge. it’ll shatter into smithereens.
what more if it were to be filled, or if it were to be overflowing.
the mess. look at the mess. the shards of glass.
some sharp and precise at its angles. others not so.
look at what has spilt. it is not contained. not anymore. it has splattered everywhere.
something like a crime scene. if one could personify the glass.
fine. the damage is done. you could clean it all up.
pick up the pieces. the glass shards. and those which shattered into smithereens.
mend it, will you. put the pieces together. fix it up.
maybe the glass will be like it once was.
but it won’t. it will not be whole anymore. its scars defined by haphazard lines from broken pieces put together.
you could fill it up, but it will not hold. it will leak through the crevices.
surely itsy bitsy pieces of it will still be missing when it shattered.
crystal clear? not so much anymore. its beauty, no longer there.
the fragility? exaggerated by its brokenness. it could fall apart with a single touch.
and it will be tipped over again. it will fall and shatter once and again.
and with each time, it is more broken, more fragile, more so an eyesore.
it will not serve its purpose anymore. simply because.
it is too broken. and it just will not do anymore.
then it becomes nothing. its beauty, its purpose, its need to be cared for. gone.
because someone was too careless. because someone took it for granted.
because someone thought it was all too dispensable.
that it didn’t matter, if the glass were to be tipped over the edge.
throw it away once its broken; it won’t serve its purpose anymore.
because it is after all, just a glass.