Shattered Glass, Shattered Heart

Written quickly

"I don't understand you!" he yelled and threw on the floor a glass cup that went shattering everywhere.
He strutted out the door, slamming it behind him as I stayed frozen in place. I did not cry when this happened anymore; I've grown numb to it. I suppose it is true what they say, you'll get used to anything after it's been long enough. Even pain. The ghost of me bend down on the floor to pick up the shattered glass and my shattered heart. Luckily, the cup broke in mostly big pieces that were easy to see. My poor hand has suffered many cuts when the cup didn't break in such large pieces. Silently humming a dark tune to myself, I picked up a piece and saw my reflection on it. I suppose. Was it really me, I mean it had to be it was staring right back at me. But my once tanned face was as pale as an actual ghost and my hazel green eyes were as shattered as the glass I was holding in my hand. He did not understand me but maybe I was an art piece. Not always meant to be understood, just admired. But admiration, sadly, was not one of his qualities.

Author's Note

Let me know what you think.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

There's pain and bewilderment in your words,. But also a veil surrounding everything that happened in that scene. How to describe what I mean? Perhaps . you write as a spectator rather than being an integral part of it. To be honest, why do you suffer such indignity.. you deserve more.. or if this is fiction... your character does because she/YOU, see how it is.

A sad but intriguing post, needs re.reading to draw out nooks and crannies of why and what.

[Chris]

sometimes the thought writes itself... and we try our damdest to keep up

[Katerina Grev]

Very true, thank you.