Shards

The thought just hit me today that we are all broken people.

More than that, actually.

We are shards of glass.

We are glass shards spinning in the darkness hoping to collide with other shards, to piece up with them and form something beautiful.

We are glass shards of different colours and opacities - some are clear, some have scratches on them, some others may be completely opaque.

This doesn't always happen - shards of glass don't just piece up perfectly. Sometimes we scratch one another, hurt one another in trying to find the shards of glass that match up with us.

Sometimes pieces of us chip off, or we fragment into smaller pieces.

Sometimes we shatter completely. And then we don't know what to do with what's left of us.

The more idealistic ones will say that broken glass shards can become magnificent stained glass pieces.

The more cynical will say that glass shards should remain glass shards, distant and cold and quick to cut anyone who touches them.

They're usually the ones who end up as the biggest and loveliest shards, but be warned: They have the sharpest edges.

The ones who shatter are the ones who barely fight anymore, because they don't know what they're fighting for.

They used to know, but they forgot. 

They don't scratch or cut anyone, because they tell themselves they don't matter anymore.

Maybe someday you'll find the pieces of glass that fit you.

They could be as many as a hundred, or maybe just two or three.

And they may not be perfect fits - you'll still end up scratching one another from time to time because that's what glass shards do.

But you'll fit somewhat. And you may not end up as a magnificent stained glass piece, but you'll be a slightly bigger glass shard spinning in the darkness and maybe that's all that matters.