when home feels like an one-way window

sometimes it feels like a picture-perfect moment, frozen within a wooden frame; the glass catching the glint of winter sunlight, reflecting your smiling face of contentment, peace.

other times, it feels like you are gripping too hard, until you’re just clutching onto cracked glass, the fractured bonds spread thin like spider webs, almost invisible to the naked eye. the web catches the morning dew on the corner of your pillowcase, glimmers ever so slightly.

your hands let slip the framed picture; the shards pierce through paper skin and the film bleeds nostalgia. you are transfixed, but you can’t fix this – you can only wait, for each piece to reassemble into their respective places. things like these – you can only wish for things to fall into place, like catching the first snowflake from the sky in your gloved hands, a delicate, warm moment.


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