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Shattered glass

Have you ever broken a glass? A glass plate or perhaps a wine glass?

And did it shatter into a million pieces all over the kitchen floor?

Yea--lately, my life has been feeling like that often--like my heart has shattered into a million tiny pieces. Or that something in my life, rather, has shattered into a billion pieces. 

The thing about broken glass, though, is that you rarely find all the pieces. Like, you don't even know there are more pieces until one day, you step on something that was already shattered and it cracks some more, and you're like, "damn! I must've missed that piece in the cleanup process." Or maybe, you didn't clean up very well to begin with.

I feel that way about certain things in my life--i didn't clean up properly, and now I'm stepping on fragments of glass, re-inflicting pain...not healing.

There are fragments cutting up all parts of my feet up, slicing through hardened, thick skin that's needs to be pedicured...to be cured. There are fragments flying through the air, scraping hidden parts of my chests, piercing holes through what should be holy and sacred and righteous. These fragments that cut don't make me feel righteous. Even the tiniest fragment of shattered glass cuts deep.

This is both the life I've chosen and the life that was given to me. I've learned to be content with the fact that every drop of blood I've shed has not been my last.
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