PitchBlue

There’s a pebble stuck on my glass window.

It was there when I woke up this morning.

“Must be a kid’s work!” I suppose, thinking of the times I myself did such silly things.

The glass no more is smooth.

It has patterns in it, rippling out from the spot where the mighty pebble hit it.

I’m angry, yes, but the child in me giggles nonetheless.

So I smile, and stretch my hands towards the window.

My fingers hesitate after reaching a distance of about 5 milimeters from the pebble.

I wait, and think.

No, I can’t take the pebble out.

It will create a mess then.

The force my fingers exert might be too much for the almost shattered-into-thousands-of-pieces glass.

Who knows how many of them will enter my room uninvited and how many will jump off.

Well, no matter how many pieces leave this piece of art, they will, for sure, make scars on my skin.

They might even land on some stranger outside.

After some thinking, I figure it’s better I leave it the way it is: on the brink of chaos.

So, my dear, I have a pebble stuck on my glass window.

And I will keep it only this way.

Until it shatters. Into distinct pieces.