Careful, tip-toed steps wander through the expanse of glass. It's broken and all too late to fix.
Memories carry the past like a tidal wave, crashing forward.
---
The world was just beyond the problems, and he couldn't wait for it.
There was no time to fix anything.
No one stayed back to pick up the pieces...
And he ran in circles. Did anything to avoid it.
He couldn't even get very far before there was someting new he had broken
He moved on, but it wasn't right.
He was moving away from it.
But he had never faced it to be able to grow from it.
---
Now he sinks to the ground, a wasteland. See all that he's destroyed, all he could have fixed.
Watching this, she releases her breathe, held for so long.
She sighs and whispers to the darkness in her room, with no one but the moon and its light bearing witness:
Why is it so much better to run from what happens and burry yourself alone, then to admit that you felt something, and maybe try to get through it, rather then just over it?