Scattered Pieces
To my children
It is so hard to try to put a broken mirror together, especially when you can’t find some of the pieces.
Like a broken promise, they can still deliver an image, but we approach them with the same wariness we approach a wounded animal.
Our mirrors often break one crack at a time.
Sometimes, they shatter in one loud and sudden cry.
Usually, we neither see nor hear the cracks. Every so often, they become echoes at the end of a phone line.
“Her voice sounded odd,” you tell yourself. Like the child that drops the milk and tries to put it back in the bottle, only there is no bottle left.
Only an echo; an empty space where time used to be.
You know that oddness in her voice is like stepping on broken glass: the slower you go, the louder it sounds.
Our mirrors are whole most of the time, though. It is us who are broken.
Thanks for your reading
This was my entry to @mariannewest and @latino.romano’s 5-Minute Daily Freewrite: Monday Prompt: HER VOICE SOUNDED ODD. You can see the details here.
Make sure you visit the Freewrite House!!!
