The broken pieces lay around me like a carpet. Jagged, sharp edges. Flowers, rimmed with gold. Stripes. Nothing at all. Filtered by bits of fallen leaves and broken twigs.
The plate in my hand glittered in the sunlight flowing through the canopy above. Bits of written words shone back at me, placed there in my own handwriting.
I took a step, widening my stance. Lifting the plate high overhead with both hands, I inhaled.
Flung at the ground with all the force I could muster, the plate exploded with a shower of sparkling shards. My throat growled with animalistic sounds, a cry so deep every emotion spoke through, feeding the earth, the explosion, the sound.
Collapsed on the broken pieces, I wept. Never enough.
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