Sometimes in the dead of night

I feel the stars start to shine through the slats in my blinds, and ponder if I am ever on your mind.
But oftentimes I begin to fret, because the spaces between my fingers don’t so easily allow just anyone to their grasp.

The jagged and cluttered confines of my mind resemble glass laid out on the floor like a mosaic, random, and at times sharp enough to wound happy thoughts.
Cynicism and negative thinking wound my heart beyond repair. Until I am completely and utterly broken. The mosaic thrown on the floor. Shards everywhere.
and then I remember, who would actually want to fall down to the floor and lie with me, while slowly putting me back together again?