The Girl Made of Glass

To the girl made of glass,

I met you when we both had things to talk about; things that neither one of us could find reasons to or explain but in all that we could do, you and I put the words out hoping we’d find meaning there. We didn’t, did we? But we found each other even though all I knew of you was that you were made of glass and all you knew of me was that I was never heard. But your world made perfect sense to me, and somehow mine seemed to make sense to you even through the unheard words and the silent tears. You made nine months worthy of the ride and I met you somewhere across the road. You said it didn’t matter what your name was or where you’ve come from, and I honestly couldn’t care less. To me, you were more than a name or a place, you were the glass that stayed put. The glass with spider web cracks that still hung by its corners. You were a means for me to escape. And you will always be so. Your journey wasn’t all that colorful but you held my hand as we strayed away from the black hole together and you saw the color in all my monochrome words. I reached out to touch you, but all I touched was a thin sheet of glass, cold and rid of heat. I burnt a fire by your side but realized soon that the heat of your heart put my fire to shame. Somehow you were still the most beautiful piece of art that could be touched.

I didn’t stumble upon your words upon boredom, I fell straight into the words you whispered to my heart. And you embraced me, shielding me from bullets when you were made of glass so thin yourself. You listened, and when I didn’t know what I meant anymore, you reminded me of just who I was. I found you crying to yourself wondering if you’d be able to recognize yourself if you tore away everything you’ve come to be, but you said you’d recognize me. You were as lost as I was, but you gave me something to hold on to. You gave me a message, a note, a will to go on.

Just the way we met in an empty space, you left one evening. No goodbye, no reason, no explanation. Just like all the things you spoke about that had no ending or beginning to make sense of, you left me hanging mid air. You left behind a reminder that spelt the words “Remember me”. You promised to be more than just a name, more than just a first name or a last. You said you were all the cracks on your glass, and that you were imperfect. You refused to be told who you were… I didn’t take those words to be the last I’d hear of you, but I can’t think of anything better you could have said. Your words always made sense to me, and even though you were made of glass and so was I, your words reached past all of them to touch me. To find a place where they fit and made perfect sense.

Your words, still the only thing of yours I have. Your heart, still the thing I know of you… I hope your journey didn’t stop where your words did. I hope it took you to all the beautiful places you wanted to be. I hope in the silence, when you’re lost and looking out, you find me within all your dreams begging to be heard as you pick up all the broken pieces of glass you’re made of. I hope you saw your reflection somewhere on the way, because you never seemed to see how beautiful even broken glass could be. And if you don’t find these words, it’s alright… because yours still live in me and if no one still hears me, it’s alright. I’ve been seeing them see you in the vases too beautiful to house the flowers, and in the bottles of hope and poetry that drown nights of solitude altogether.

I hope you found something that doesn’t break so easily when you left behind the pieces of your broken soul to complete all of ours.

Yours sincerely,
The girl who’s name you never learnt.

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You can spend minutes speaking to someone and feel like you know them inside out. And then some days you wake up and realize you suddenly don’t know someone you thought you knew your entire life.

And you try to makes sense of this nonsense. You try to fix the pieces, how you can feel like you don’t know everything you once knew. How your memory is still as sharp but you can’t find anything in it, and every new thought you try to process is like a faint stain that all the other colours blur out of your vision. And the words you hear shoot right past you as you walk head first into a battle field of confusion. You’re not going to believe a word you hear, you’re not going to mean a thing you say. So you keep quiet, you let the words rush past you, and when they don’t, you run because staying too long would mean you’d have to read between them, you’d have to see the words for what they are. And neither you, nor I are prepared to learn the truth. Truth is just a fancy word for all the lies we’ve come to live. You hear the sound of your own heartbeat and you say it’s a marching band, you feel your breath choking you and you say it’s just the air around and you say over and over again that you can’t stand the presence of one more question when all you’re trying to mean is you can’t stand the absence of an answer. You’re lost, and as much as you know it, you won’t accept it. Because accepting it would make it the truth, and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand to watch yourself lie. You are a disaster, chaos, a storm of all the crazy things… but take a breath, breath again. Let’s start again. I may have known you yesterday, but I sure am seeing you for the first time today.

What if I was the person who sat across you, put that smile up on your face as your eyes stared at the flash of camera? What if, I, and not someone else were the words your breathed, the things you said and the stories you wrote. What if I was the person running through your mind, scrambling your thoughts as you write lines of poetry that you hide in your drawer because you think your words will never be good enough. What if I was the one holding your hand, or the one whispering all your favorite lines out of all your favorite books. What if you told me, instead of someone else, the titles of all your favorite novels so that I’d stay up reading them all before you wake up so that I’d know who Julie is and why Lisa ran away. What if you give yourself a chance to know the person I’ve come to be, or give me a chance to trust you once again. What if all my words are in vain. What if, What if, you really don’t care anymore?