Some days are days of broken things.
Like this glass I tumble, more fragile than I thought, and I must spend some of my precious time cleaning up the shards so that my loved ones are not pricked.
Though I carry the scars from a thousand other cuts.
And my efforts cannot keep my loved ones from being nicked by life.
Even the rain feels like tiny needles against my face.
I can dodge the pain.
And yet, there is no way to avoid the wet.