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Fractured

 


Someone I was recently speaking to referred to herself as fractured. 


Fractured.


That word has been swimming around my head since that conversation.  To me, I guess that word means broken, but not enough to break apart.  It’s that one moment before breaking, hanging on by a thread, just a small bump away from complete ruin. It makes me think of a glass door.  Those often just crack, in a big, winding, spider-web kind of way. They look like a thousand little crystals, so chaotically uniform that you almost question if it was designed that way, but you know, in your head, that if one thing hits that door the wrong way, it will shatter to ground.  Looking at that door from another angle however, lets the sunlight sparkle and bounce along those same cracks.  It is, perhaps, that beauty that keeps us from falling apart completely.  It is that one tiny shred of hope until you remember that the sunlight may be beautiful, but it will never be able to repair that door.

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