A lot of memories I see are in torn--slow motion,
Just tiny fragments that slowly pass by.......broken and shattered.
A blurry vision from a dream state almost.
If I could just collect them all, Maybe I could repair it back together.
Maybe if I could get the big ones I could make sense out of the shape of things now.
But as I turn my head, for coverage, the glass panels shatter even more.
A noncollectable amount of shards scatter over me and across the rug---
The rug that covers the stains from before.
It seems everything is stained here now,
And not in the sense of something that can be washed out or painted over.
More so scarred or burned where you cannot mistake this was once something more than it is now.
That this has been through something---molded---torched---changed into something almost unrecognizable to the original form.
However, do not pity the girl nor the glass as it was before though, it wasn't merely just being there, entirely, every single time. It is not faultless in this all, yet not to blame either.
One thing that was different between the girl and the glass was she had a way to turn the pain into something more.
Something more than just broken shards of what has been---even if no one else saw the beauty in that.
It was always there.
She saw the beauty and through the broken pieces
let light be refracted back in the broken spaces.
And
Light was always there.
Light was always there.
Light was always there.
-Samantha Jo
"Light was always there" 2019
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