The slim strip of paper sitting atop the split cookie read:
Quit your job. Although the world will be in plague and flames soon thereafter, you will feel more free than you ever have before.
It was followed by the obligatory smiley face and list of lucky numbers.
(pause)
Think of the delicate vase freshly bumped by a velvet patched elbow. The hefty, ceramic teetering. The eventual and certain fall.
Or perhaps the glass that tumbles from someone's fingertips and spins in slow moving wheels as fingers and hands reach and fumble to recover it. The glass circling in a feigned slow motion, bouncing from flesh to flesh.
The tension and electrocuting brace that ricochets through our bodies.
Our faces that turn slightly away as the moment of shatter comes closer.
Holding.
Go with me into that moment of shatter:
The vase meets floor tile in big, bold pieces while the tiniest slivers shower upwards.
The glass hits hardwood and spreads its shards mixed with the splashing remnants of what it previously held.
Release.
We can be as careful as we want to be, but at times
it is only the dive into destruction
that can truly set us free.
k.
(image: red by i-shadow)
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