The Shards We Don't See

Glass doesn’t always break the same way.

Sometimes it cracks, a thin, nearly invisible line that waits for just enough pressure to finally give way. When it does, the break is clean. Total separation. Irreversible.

Other times, it shatters. Violently. Large shards fly through the air, sharp enough to impale, to wound anyone standing too close. Even bystanders, innocent and unaware, can get caught in the shards.

The smaller pieces scatter, hiding under cabinets and corners, waiting for a bare foot to mistake safety for innocence.

Then there are the slivers. Microscopic fragments that escape even the most careful sweep.

They burrow deep. Invisible. But felt.

You dig and scrape, searching beneath the skin for what’s causing the ache. Sometimes you find it. Sometimes you don’t. And when you don’t, the pain lingers. Quiet but constant.

Until, at last, healing builds enough pressure to push it out. Or something intervenes.