Glue Has No Effect on the Lives of the Broken

January 4, 2008
By Kristen Clagg, Scurry, TX

The other day, I was rummaging through my cluttered closet. It was a mess, empty cans, old clothes, bags, other such things. Then, I pulled out your jacket. You remember it? We fought over who should get it. We stuck it in each others locker, dumped it on the other persons stuff, both secretly wanting it. I wanted it because it, well, it smelt like you. And you wanted it because it was January. In the interior pocket, I had stuck everything. Old notes, the in-case-I-die letters, your poems, your picture, and that necklace that we would fight over too. I remember I would stick it in your pocket and you would catch me almost every time, and before the day was out, I'd find it either in MY pocket or my backpack. I smelt your jacket, it had lost your smell long ago, and now smelt like... pumpkins. I dont know why, but it did. I remember I would sleep on it when my parents decided you wern't right or me. The smell filled me with memories long subdued, and forgotten. My stomach dropped.

I didn't cry.

I kept working on my closet and finally, I got half-way through. I proceeded to work on the other side. I separated the clothes that had falled of the hangers onto the floor. Then, I crossed one of my old favorite shirts. You had one that was almost the same, and I loved it. It was my favorite one you had. Mine was gray and long-sleeved, yours was short-sleeved, but the same color of gray. Remember? We would accidently wear them at the same time, and look like we were trying to match. That happened some time at Christmas last year. Remember? That was when my mom didnt hate you too.

I still didnt gry.

I was finishing up the other side of the closet, when I came across my old knick-knack box.

I started to cry.

Do you remember that glass rose? The one you got me for my 15th birthday? You couldn't give it to me correctly because by then, my mom and dad both despised you. But not me, I loved you. I pulled it out of its box and picked up the pieces. Do you want to know why it was broken? It was sitting in my windowsill that day you drove me home. That day my parents saw. I put it on my bed so I could get outside. So I could get away from that hell-hole. So I could run away. Then, my mom yanked me out of the window and I landed on it, breaking it into pieces.

And now its broken. Like me. Like us. Like we are right now. I tried to glue it back together, but it just fell apart again, like how i tried to glue my life back together. Like I tried to glue my heart back together. I loved you, and still do, even as I'm hoplessley broken. Im broken and scattered everywhere, and everytime I pick up a piece, it slips out of my hands, and what am I left with? Nothing. Not even you.

Im sorry I broke it.

Im sorry I broke US.

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