Broken

I remember sitting in my room,

immersed in my own fictional world 

as words flew from my fingers and dripped

onto what once a blank piece of paper. 

Then I heard a loud bang that forced me

out of my trance. I ignored it and resumed to write, but the noises got louder and that's when I realized hail was falling from the great white clouds. Once the raging sky calmed, I went outside and was overcome with devastation. My windshield was cracked, but still intact. I simply did not have the

time to get it fixed, so I drove around a few weeks with my broken windshield. I noticed that whenever I was driving down the road, I could feel everyone staring a beat too long in my direction. I could feel everyone wondering what happened to my windshield.

I knew everyone was questioning why I would let something broken be seen, so publicly, in a society that craves and yearns for perfection.