Imagine me, a thick glass pane.
Everyday, someone says something, does something. Sometimes, they do nothing. It chips away at the glass pane.
Sometimes it’s a bullet. Sometimes it’s an attempt to snap. Sometimes it’s a simple tap.
I resist. I crack. Until the day I shatter.
I split into millions of pieces. Covering the floor. All of them will stab you so your blood will begin to pour.
My glass pane has turned to deadly dust. Don’t create fuss. I am unfixable. I cannot return to what I once was before. Before, I was shattered across the floor.
But if you were to sweep me up, melt my dust and put me in a mould, I would feel better again.
I am not the pane of glass I once was. I have speckles of dust. I am uneven. I am rough.
Remember this: I can be shattered millions of times to dust, but I will never be the same pane of glass was. I am simply not as robust. So the more you batter me, the quicker it will be to once again, turn me into dust.