Originally posted by: sksg
So true. But your thought has inspired me to write this poem from Geet's point of view.
I don't know how to explain it, but I'll try.
See, I'm broken.
Like a glass cup, I can't be whole again.
I can only try to put the biggest pieces together and hope they stay.
Hope I don't break again.
But, also like a glass cup, there are the small pieces.
The small pieces of me that I can never get back, the pieces vital for the cup to be complete again.
For me to be complete again.
Without the little shards, the liquid, like my feelings, will leak out until there is no more.
So you ask me how I could not care,
How I could have no empathy,
How I could be so cold.
And that is why.
I am missing parts of myself, my pain leaking out.
But unlike the cup, my pain is always refilled,
Never-ending,
Never ceasing.
Threatening to consume my thoughts,
My life,
My soul.
Until there is no more.
Just an empty,
Broken, Glass.
That is why today I love a broken picture
More than I can love the man in the picture!
Note:
The samller pieces are meant to represent the life shared with her parents and family, and her lost baby.
The biggest pieces are supposed to stand for her life with Maan.
Did I just try to justify Geet's position? I must have gone really mad. No, I am only trying to hold onto something that I think I know is no longer there.