It sounded just like a porcelain cup as it shatters after being dropped.
Not the kind of sound that says, “It just cracked in a few places.”
The kind of sound that lets you know there is no mending.
The kind of sound that is piercing at first, but then softens as the broken pieces turn to specks of dust, who lose their voices as they give in to the obvious: they will never be part of something whole.
Each speck is on its own.
Never again big enough to hold anything.
That’s what it sounded like,
but maybe a little more like a cup that had been cracked in a few places-dropped hard this time.
It still had that piercing sound,
but it was not as sharp as a never before cracked cup.
It was piercing with a moan, like I can’t hold it together anymore, and then it softened as the broken pieces turned to specks of dust, who lost their voices.
That’s what it sounded like,
Deep in my chest,
And I fell to the ground
As if every single piece of the porcelain sand laid scattered near one another, I might remember the feeling of having a heart that could hold something.
Although it seems unlikely,
I wouldn’t know because
the tears poured down like rain breaking the pieces into even smaller pieces, washing some away, clumping others together.
Not a configuration reminiscent of the heart that once was.
All I could hope for
Was that my shattered heart might get swept into a pile of garbage that would be granted the gift of being close to the bare earth, so that it may decompose with other shattered pieces, and one day it may recreate itself with more space, strength, and beauty than ever before.
And maybe this time it should be plastic…
Or maybe, porcelain, but the next time I hear that sound, I hope it will be the sound of your heart knocking on the door of mine, breaking me open in a different way.
