she held the glass like she was a ship and it was her anchor.
“if you hold that glass any tighter, it’ll shatter.”
but her eyes were blank, seeing something no one else could.
“what?”
“the glass,” i repeated.
“oh.”
she let go, placing her hand in her lap.
her grip had left a million tiny cracks and they continued to spread,
cackling as they did so, embracing the glass, reaching out like crooked arms.
when it shattered, a fleeting cry of the glass trying desperately to hold itself together,
she told me, ”some things just break like that.”
