Still, here I am, knocking at his door, holding the broken pieces in the cup of my palms.
He takes his time, why wouldn’t he? A million years of similar stories have made him old, grumpy and a bit snappish. He’s entitled this time, though.
“You, again?” he asks, putting the black framed glasses on, as I nod and sigh.
“Okay, what is it this time?” and I show him the broken pieces, just to see him glaring at me.
“First time I understood. You were young and stupid, so you just played with it, dropped it and…crack! You broke it in two!
Then you gave it to someone…hmmm…he said he’ll fix it and the idiot smashed it to the floor! Remember?”
He surely sees the rain in my eyes, I surely want him to stop reminding me things that hurt so deep…but I guess it’s part of my reason for being here. He will make sure I listen the whole story, I know he will!
“Then some other people…wait, you called them how?…Aha, friends was the word. They poisoned it with venomous words and then, when you were not looking (you never pay attention, do you?) they stabbed it!
And someone stumped on it!
I told you not to show it, they will break it just for fun, but noooo…You, stubborn!
Let’s not forget your last performance: you locked it into a dark and cold place, then (trying to fool destiny) you began this crazy race against death and demons and hell itself!
Well, guess who almost died?”
He’s looking at the broken pieces: “Your heart”
Can you fix it? I whisper hopelessly. Can you make it whole again? And I promise…
He turns his back.
“Don’t. Don’t plead. It’s just too broken. Take it back, I cannot fix the mess you created!”
But I can’t accept fate, never could, never will! So I just throw it back to him, shouting like thousand thunders:
If you don’t fix it, then I don’t want it anymore! I will be…heartless.
He angrily stares at my tears-steamed face:
“You can’t be heartless, you fool! You are specially created to love. God only knows why! You -stubborn, complicated, foolish, childlike and wild- your love has some kind of meaning and purpose. And He wants you to love.”
He mutters some words only he can hear, then returns to me with a crown.
“You should wear it until you get better. It’s called Forgiveness. Wear it upon the broken pieces, they’ll stick together again. Just give it time. And be gentle while it’s so fragile.
It will be strong…it will be beautiful, even broken.
It still is.
All credits for the photo to the talented Alicja from http://www.pixabay.com