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For the first few weeks afterwards, I wasn't me.
I was china, I was glass.
Someone to hide, someone to pity.
Now it's later. A year, almost.
And the pain is still keeping me broken,
keeping me whole.
It's the little things that get me now.
Coconut ice cream. Cellos. Pretzels baking.
Those things stop me, drag me back
to the days when it came crashing down.
And pain keeps me broken,
keeps me whole.
It's better now.
People have forgotten, kept it away.
As if it was catching-hah!
But the dreams are still there.
And still I am broken.
And still I am whole