Broken

  "I was glad I fixed them, but I loved them a little less, will be more likely to throw them away if they get broken again." 

 

Fragments scatter across the table. I look at them, sorting through them to determine how they go together. They don't look like much now, but I know it will be a beautiful picture once I can put it together.

Of course, it started out that way. I think about that. It was a beautiful image that someone took the time to paint or photograph or appreciate. Then knives cut it into all these little pieces. Now here they are all spread out. Dissected beauty. Broken. It will take hours to put it all back together and then I'll be able to see the picture. It will be flawed though, full of little lines like scars. It won't be as pretty as the original one was.

But I'll still feel better for putting it back together.

...This was actually about a puzzle, but in my cleaning the last few days, I fixed some broken stuff by gluing it back together. It was that or throw things away. I was glad I fixed them, but I loved them a little less, will be more likely to throw them away if they get broken again. You can only fix things so many times. After a while they just don't work right any more and you have to let them go. Lately, I have the sense of something broken one too many times myself, like when you cut a finger too deep and get a numb spot. I thought it might go away but it doesn't show signs of leaving. I'm not sure what to do about that. It makes me a little sad, like a vampire lamenting something it barely remembers having.

 2005 Sonja Torres

 

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