Broken Glass

Broken glass covered the floor. We tried to sweep it up but we didn't make much of an effort. I say we, but I really mean he. He swept the glass into a pile, leaving pieces scattered about. He was doing everything to keep me together. I found this funny because he was broken too. He just knew how to hide it. I was just so broken I couldn't hide the cracks. Still I hadn't fallen apart, like the glass bowl that litters our floor. I say our, like I own it too. But I don't. He owns it. I stay here. Much like the sofa that I pretend is my bed. I own nothing. What I do own is my life, yet no one really trust me with it. I own it much like a child owns a cat. At the end of the day someone else is still making sure it is feed. Sad. The bowl broke without warning. Just sitting firmly, flatly on the counter. It crashed. No one touched it. Maybe we all brake without warning.