Contelysia

The smoke diffuses in the clear air, the ground damp from yesterday’s rain. Some faces have decipherable expressions — joy, sorrow, despair, cruelty, kindness. Some faces are like mine — with an unclarity so evident that it scares the bravest souls. I can’t even look at the pavement the same now. It’s scary how often I imagine the bouquet scattered on the damp cement, the wilted roses just a reminder of how broken I can be. The pink parchment not holding them together anymore as they get trampled on, their story a lost symbol of their lost fragrance.  Was I that bouquet to those I loved once? Held to their chests when I’m significant, yet thrown to the ground when I don’t make sense anymore? My soul lays scattered in a thousand shards now. You can’t gather me without scarring yourself. You can’t fix me without being broken yourself.  I don’t want to break you; not when you dare to glue me back together. Careful as you walk over my pieces, they are sharp enough to cut you. Would y