She’s not broken, she’s a mosaic. Pieces and fragments of assorted memories painted in a myriad of emotions that can never be immediately comprehended. You thought she was perfect, flawless with all of the colors and patterns swirling within her until you saw the cracks in her body. The torment residing between those pieces from the striking of ceramics falling down and being glued back together slowly. As she gazed at you quietly, you wondered how many pieces have been shattered within those many shades of red and blue? You watched the desolate black gaps between each broken piece, how they expanded with her breathing as she took in the world around her, and you finally understood just how fragile she really was. She watched your gaze at the cracks and smiled. Blue shards fell from her eyes breaking into smaller pieces upon contact with the floor as her body crumbled to the floor breaking further. You were finally seeing her beauty for all of its pain and strength, everything she had always wanted those around her to understand.
— sara f..; crisp leaves and empty trees