Pieces
Sometimes there only seem to be clouds.
Tonight, the clouds hang above me, sulking in the sky. They watch me write the words. I don't even think they bother to read.
I imagine myself in a room, where some shattered pieces are strewn on the floor, in front of me.
As I walk towards them, I have no idea what they are, so I approach with trepidation. They seem to be a puzzle, all torn up and thrown apart. They look injured.
I crouch down and being putting them together, finding each scrap that surrounds my feet.
Gradually, I see the picture form as I put it all together.
Gradually, I see.
These pieces on the ground.
Are made of me.
Sometimes there only seem to be clouds.
Tonight, the clouds hang above me, sulking in the sky. They watch me write the words. I don't even think they bother to read.
I imagine myself in a room, where some shattered pieces are strewn on the floor, in front of me.
As I walk towards them, I have no idea what they are, so I approach with trepidation. They seem to be a puzzle, all torn up and thrown apart. They look injured.
I crouch down and being putting them together, finding each scrap that surrounds my feet.
Gradually, I see the picture form as I put it all together.
Gradually, I see.
These pieces on the ground.
Are made of me.
( Markus Zusak )
[ Getting the Girl ]
www.QuoteSweet.com