Fragile

I broke a bowl today. Glass. I wasn’t paying attention, and it fell. Shattered. I saw the shards scatter like hard little tears. They rained across the floor. Wood. The surface smooth, cold. Unyielding. The bowl was so fragile it didn’t have a chance. I bent down to the floor. Kneeled. Held a slice between my fingers. Peered. I could see my eye reflected in the tiny mirror. I saw before I knew. Tears. I slumped against the wall, shoulders shaking. Sobbed. I was so helpless, weak. It was just too much to take. Why my bowl? Why that floor? Why today? Why now? Why ever? How? Today was our anniversary, and I broke a bowl. Glass. I sobbed.