Life breaks quietly, like glass dropped on a cold floor, shards catching the light and reflecting pieces of everything we
Once were.
Scattered glass does not forgive the fall;
It only mirrors the fragments of what remains, sharp and unyielding,
Forcing you to navigate the floor carefully, step by step.
Each shard holds a story,
A memory cut into edges too jagged to touch, yet beautiful enough to hold your gaze.
You reach for them, hoping to piece them together, but the reflections never align,
And the image you wanted is always just beyond your fingers.
Even in the ruin, there is a strange clarity.
To walk among scattered glass is to learn humility,
To see that life is composed of fragments,
And that wholeness is often an illusion we carry in our hands.
Yet each step leaves a mark,
Each breath fills the space with possibility, and the shards, sharp and shining,
Teach you that beaulife breaks quietly, like glass dropped on a cold floor,
Shards catching the light and reflecting pieces of everything we once were.
Scattered glass does not forgive the fall;
It only mirrors the fragments of what remains, sharp and unyielding,
Forcing you to navigate the floor carefully, step by step.
Each shard holds a story,
A memory cut into edges too jagged to touch, yet beautiful enough to hold your gaze.
You reach for them, hoping to piece them together,
But the reflections never align,
And the image you wanted is always just beyond your fingers.
Even in the ruin, there is a strange clarity.
To walk among scattered glass is to learn humility, to see that life is composed of fragments,
And that wholeness is often an illusion we carry in our hands.
Yet each step leaves a mark,
Each breath fills the space with possibility, and the shards, sharp and shining,
Teach you that beauty can exist even in what is broken.
Qqety can exist even in what is broken.
