Glass
There are so many things I have to do, so many things I wish to do. And yet, I have so little energy for all of them. These days, I manage to execute only half of my original plan. While I wish my daily moments would lift some of the heavy stones in my heart — the stones of sorrow — many times they don't. I just find myself standing in front of a kitchen sink late at night with a bunch of dirty dishes, or mindlessly staring into the TV, watching news broadcasts on the flood: images of dead cows floating on the river, houses in destruction, the gloomy face of a man who tells the reporter, "I must have sinned so much in my previous life to experience all this."
The only hope I witnessed today was the lush summer trees I saw as I walked out of my apartment: the trees looked at me tenderly as they usually do, with their bright green faces and long brown arms. I was carrying so much, inside and out, but the trees — they were so free, so light, and so effortlessly beautiful.
How can you breathe so calmly in this scorching heat? I wanted to ask. How did you endure the pouring rain that flooded the whole country last week? How did you survive the past winter, the coldness, the misery, the loneliness? I wanted to keep asking, not to get their answers, but to stay in their company. How do you surpass — this aching reality?
I didn’t feel like crying. Instead, I felt fine particles of glass floating inside me, scraping against my soft organs. The glass of sadness I had to take in. The shattered dreams I had to accept. With the streetlights changing, I had to stop pondering and walk away from the nature.
