I am broken glass and lies told over tea.

I've never realized that you were always watching me.  I think it's the time when I hear your footsteps behind me that I knew.  Right then, I knew.  You were just a light, shining through the cracks and I was the broken glass in the window.  I could see you, hear you, smell you.



You were always talking about me, sipping rosemary tea out of cracked tea cups as you did so.  It was either that or drinking bitter coffee out of your grandfather's mug.  I whispered to you that I wasn't anything you said I was, but you didn't listen.  You just kept exclaiming that I was dying centerpiece and no one would care if I shattered on the floor, except for the person who was left to clean up the mess.







When I asked you how you were, you told me it wasn't any of my business.  The only reason I asked was because you had been sitting on my jacket and I just wanted to leave.  I didn't like you, didn't care about you.  I only cared about what you said about me.  I only cared that you were telling people lies, your breath smelling bad the whole time as you did so.





















I was just walking along the cracked pavement, my hands shaking in the cold and that's when I felt your footsteps.  I didn't turn around, I didn't even glance over my shoulder, I just ran.  Ran past the brick houses, they were all the same.  Ran past the pedestrians walking their dogs, barely missing their leashes.







As I tried to catch my breath, you grabbed my shoulder and made me face you.  When I looked up into your watering eyes, I knew.  We weren't much different.  You said you were sorry for the lies and although I didn't believe you, I forgave you anyway.












You didn't stop telling secrets of mine to people over tea or coffee, you didn't stop talking about me behind my back, and you didn't stop using me.



It took me three years to figure it out,
and I should of known because you were never one for saying sorry.