Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Breaking My Glass

Some people build a wall. They find red bricks and stack them high. No one can get in. No one can get around. They can't even see through it. They can't jump over it. Those people build those walls, though, for a reason. Letting someone through is scary. These strangers come in and walk around the soft spots leaving a mark on everything important. And when they go, because they always go, those soft spots become bruised.

I didn't want any more bruises. But instead of building a brick wall, I built a glass house. The four walls were big and covered both myself and Claire. Everyone can see us. Everyone knows what we're doing. They can make out what we say and clearly figure out how we feel. But they can't get in without an invitation.

Unfortunately though, glass is breakable. Or should I say, fortunately? I haven't decided yet. Something cracked with a word from a stranger. Actually, it was from a stranger who never really was a stranger at all. The shards are slowly covering my floor. I just haven't stepped on them yet. That someone keeps sweeping them up, making sure no one gets cut. And I am not used to that. I clean up. I take care of everything. It's easier that way. I was taught that it was better that way.

I wanted to protect us but I never wanted to hide. Maybe that's why I chose glass instead of brick. The right person would be able to start a steady crack and watch the walls slowly shatter in due time. And that's what I wanted deep down. I wanted someone to be patient. I didn't crave a single, solid blow to a brick wall and someone to come barreling through the front door. I didn't want easy. I wanted to watch someone fight for it. Actually, I wanted to feel someone do all of those things. I wanted someone that didn't have a time limit on how long it would take to see the bits and pieces fall to the wayside.

I'm still fighting the urge to run. But, this stranger, who was never really a stranger, is quite a bit faster. Every time I take a step away, there's a tug at my collar reminding me that there's someone right on my heels steadying me.

This could all implode though. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. And although that may seem easier for my head and my heart, I'd rather it not.
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