The sound of broken glass
That feeling, everyone writes on twitter and instagram. It`s one word describing the essence of the unspeakable, the undescribed feelings and moods that live in their own right, without any nametags pulling them down. I got one of them right now. The clock is 07.01 in the morning, and I have been awake for a hour. I streched and curled a bit before I counted to three and flung myself out in the cold winter air. I was more tired that usual, but knew that would be history one proper breakfast later. I went upstairs, now with some semblence of clothes wrapping me, and opened the door. My little Amadeus didn`t come home yesterday, so I crossed my fingers and hoped he would start mewing in annoyance and happiness both. He wasn`t there
I left the door half-open and the lights on, even the blanket and food I put out yesterday, stayed where it was. Disappointed I turned my attention to other tasks, like putting the kettle on and checking my phone for messages. The kettle was easy enough, and usually the checking-part is too, but apparently not when tiredness still hasn`t said vaporized. I have gone through that moment several times in my mind already, so it should be pretty clear as I describe it: I lift my lovely white Iphone, so new and innocent, and am just about to grab it properly, when something goes wrong. It starts sliding out of my hand and I follow its path down to the floor while thinking «oh no» simultanusly as I try to catch it mid-air. My normal table-tennis reflexes were turned off by mr. tiredness, so I could just watch with horror as it slowly fell and fell, until it fell no more but just lied there, still. I secretly crossed my mental fingers one more time as I reached down to check for damage, hoping that like before, it did not break when it touched the floor. I had a bad feeling though, and was rewarded with my guts being right one more time: Small cracks over half its face, scarred forever.
Thats when I got «that feeling», that you only get when something valuable breaks. The intensity of it, was modulated by my fix-it thoughts, but it still lingered inside of me. Its not the first time something in my closest vicinity breaks, and even if I normally handle it with: «Well, life goes on», those episodes keep piling up, building an prison over my feeling of happiness. I know: «Dont cry over spilt milk» and I don`t, but its allowed to have this feeling, just for a little bit, before you let go and focus on what still’s there.