boywandering: You were a glass window, every... - My legs barely hold all my heart and soul

Monday, January 16, 2012

boywandering:

You were a glass window, every pane broken from the pain. You had every piece of you broken in two, every hole left you that much less whole. Your pieces were in pieces, your parts fallen apart. And lying on the floor, shattered, you needed someone, something to take you and fix you, to make you new again. But until then, you are not complete.
But what happens when someone comes back and looks at you, not broken into the pieces that you have been broken into, but sees what you could be. That they look at the scattered, stray parts of you and decide that you are worth the time, that they see the potential and decide to take a chance on you. They see that you were perfectly perfect before, and that you deserve a chance to be perfectly perfect again.
And so they take you, carefully picking up every broken shard and piece, cradling it close to their chest despite the sharp edges and unrefined corners. They take you, being careful not to leave out any part of you, the tiniest bit that still makes up who you are. They hold you within the entanglement of their fingers pressed so tightly to every piece so that none of your essence is lost. And they run back and spread you across the table, looking at every tatter and tear and loving the perfection that can only be found in what is battered and bruised and begin to work. They pick the pieces and pull them together, fastening them with loving tenderness and care and a pinch of super glue, to keep together what is so superbly, uniquely you. They dye the parts and color them so that what was once so uniform is now crafted to be different. Piece by piece, they lovingly create what was once you into something that is new and in doing so you find yourself, the same but yet not the same. Every part now in place, he wipes the life and blood from his hands that only working with something as fragile yet piercing as glass can cause. In fixing what was broken, shattered, destroyed into something new you find that you were not becoming something else, but exactly what you were before but just so much more beautiful.
And now you are a stained glass window. You light up the room and color the world.

You were a glass window, every pane broken from the pain. You had every piece of you broken in two, every hole left you that much less whole. Your pieces were in pieces, your parts fallen apart. And lying on the floor, shattered, you needed someone, something to take you and fix you, to make you new again. But until then, you are not complete.

But what happens when someone comes back and looks at you, not broken into the pieces that you have been broken into, but sees what you could be. That they look at the scattered, stray parts of you and decide that you are worth the time, that they see the potential and decide to take a chance on you. They see that you were perfectly perfect before, and that you deserve a chance to be perfectly perfect again.

And so they take you, carefully picking up every broken shard and piece, cradling it close to their chest despite the sharp edges and unrefined corners. They take you, being careful not to leave out any part of you, the tiniest bit that still makes up who you are. They hold you within the entanglement of their fingers pressed so tightly to every piece so that none of your essence is lost. And they run back and spread you across the table, looking at every tatter and tear and loving the perfection that can only be found in what is battered and bruised and begin to work. They pick the pieces and pull them together, fastening them with loving tenderness and care and a pinch of super glue, to keep together what is so superbly, uniquely you. They dye the parts and color them so that what was once so uniform is now crafted to be different. Piece by piece, they lovingly create what was once you into something that is new and in doing so you find yourself, the same but yet not the same. Every part now in place, he wipes the life and blood from his hands that only working with something as fragile yet piercing as glass can cause. In fixing what was broken, shattered, destroyed into something new you find that you were not becoming something else, but exactly what you were before but just so much more beautiful.

And now you are a stained glass window. You light up the room and color the world.