Glass

Some people pick at my seams and pull me apart. Different people will piece me back together, fix me. Then they will accidentally catch a thread and unravel me, I will be broken once again. The rest of the world will find me broken and piece me together like a broken glass. They may not mean to but they do, slowly. Then after some time they will come back, this time with a hammer. They will then shatter my walls, kill my dreams and crush my mind. These people are the people that you love.





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