Pieces of Joy

It wasn’t that I had forgotten,
it was that I didn’t want to remember.
The thrill of completion, the fear of thrill,
as I lifted the dust-covered lid of my Pandora’s box

The memories like an overflowing kettle, came rushing back
whispering loudly in the back of my mind.
The sound of my door locking into place.
The devastation forcing its way in and spreading through my psyche.
The drops of sorrow escaping my bloated, red mirror to my tender heart.
My delicate hands rummaging through the darkness of the world to find my hope,
the pieces of joy.

I know now that it was probably I who had caused the scene,
because it was me who had scratched his pride and joy,
and so in return he shattered mine.
However, as time went on I began to continue on the 2000-piece embodiment of my suffering,
this was in fear of the possibility that the time I had spent on it would all go to waste.

It had been a year after the incident and this fear had wasted away.
The shock of seeing the completed puzzle up on the wall had almost made me cry.
It was crooked. But I liked it like that.
Because the journey to forgiveness was never an easy one.