“Can I tell you a story?”

“If you want”

“But do you?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to tell you a story?”

You sigh and turn your body. You face away from me.

“Just be quick. It’s late”

I know that. I look at the digital display on your alarm clock and I know that. Know that time is slipping away and every second that I stay still, stay silent, is a second wasted.

Breathe in. Here it goes.

“There was once a princess in a far-away land”

You snort

“Really? You’re keeping me awake for this?”

You’re right. It’s not very good. I know that too. So I shall try again.

“There once was a beast that lived in a cave”

You snort again. But this time in disdain.

“Sorry.”

“Are you wasting my time?”

Probably.

“No.”

“Go on, then”

Your tone softens and, immediately, so does my heart.

Breathe in. Here it goes.

“There once was a person who was the luckiest person in the world.”

I stop. I hear nothing. Only my heartbeat.

Are you holding your breath?

“And this person was the luckiest person in the whole world because their life seemed perfect.”

“They had a hundred castles and ten thousand horses and a million subjects and ten million apple trees.”

You interrupt

“But they didn’t have friends?”

“No, of course they had friends. They were the luckiest person in the whole wide world. If they had no friends they would be the poorest.”

“Don’t you mean the unluckiest?”

No, I don’t

“Maybe”

“Then let me guess”

No, please.

“Go on”

I try to seem confident

“They didn’t have love…or they didn’t know love…or they lost love”

You enumerate them; you count off all the possibilities. You sigh.

And you turn to look at me

“I know”

You utter those two words, laden with tiredness. But to me, it seems like a catharsis of noises, of clattering sounds. They were only meant for me and yet, suddenly, I feel exposed, vulnerable and to the real world. You say those words and only you know, but it feels like the whole world has just found out. And it is scary, not because I think the whole world knows but because in that moment I realize that you are my world. My whole world.

“You know?”

My voice quivers and I try to hide it

“I know”, you repeat with the same exhausted tone.

“What do you know?”

I press forward, onwards, away. I press hoping no words will leak out.

“I know how the story ends”

“How does it end?”

“Badly”

“Badly?”

No it doesn’t.

That wasn’t the story I was planning on telling you

“That wasn’t the story you were planning on telling me. You were going to tell me that you love me.”

I look away.

“But that is not the complete story and I thought you should know that before you attempt to finish it, before you get more caught up in it.”

“The complete story does not have a happy ending. Maybe it’s best to not tell it.”

But why?

“But why?”

“Because right now we can at least have a hundred castle and ten thousand horses , a million subjects and ten million apple trees. But later we will have none of those and we won’t have each other either”

You turn away, again.

“It’s better this way.”

I draw up what little courage I have left. I collect the debris of my determination

“Can I tell you a different story?”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“I’m not sure”

It’s true, I’m not.

“It doesn’t have an ending”

You don’t say anything and I take it as a sign to continue.

Breathe in. Here it goes.

“There once were two broken people”

“They used to be regular people but they were smashed and bashed, hit and cracked”

“And now they were irregular, rough and sharp at the edges.”

“They managed to pick themselves up, bit by bit. And they put themselves together as best as they could, trying to remember where each piece had gone. They tried to rebuild themselves as closely as possible to the way they were before. But when they tried to do that, they would find that their arms would not swing properly, that their noses kept falling off. And so they had to give up on the idea of trying to look as before and now concentrate on trying to work, trying to function.”

“Some bits they threw away. Others they had to wrap them up so much in duct tape that they’d forgotten what was originally underneath. Some bits needed to be replaced completely by sturdier material.”

“They were ugly, they were different, they were weaker. They were broken and everybody knew this.”

“In this country, people were made out of glass. Shiny, smooth and cool. Transparent, so that one could see through them and into their souls. But now, the two broken people were rough and sharp and dull. If anybody came near, they’d get cut. They would lose bits of themselves, the light that reflected off them was dimmed as their sides were no longer as smooth, roughened by their contact. This made the other people very sad and most would keep away. Those that stayed changed and were never the same.”

“These two broken glass people noticed and decided to live on their own. This way, they didn’t hurt anybody but they were lonely. With time, pieces of them would fall off and there was no-one around to pick them up. They had to do it themselves and it was harder, oh so much harder, that many times they just left them lying around and this pushed people further away. Nobody was able to walk on shards of glass”

“But one day, something amazing happened.”

“These two people met.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure. I think it was coincidence but that’s not important. The most important thing is that they met. And one of them, when they bumped into each other, lost a piece. And the other person didn’t notice and they accidentally took it with them. So the first person followed them, followed them back to their house to reclaim their missing piece.”

“And when she went followed them home, knocked on their door and went inside their house, she saw more bits of glass lying on the floor. She was reminded of her own house and she cried. She vowed to the other person that she would help and pick up the pieces that fell off them, that she would help them keep together. But the other person pushed her away.”

I place my hand on your shoulder

“She said, no, go away, it will end badly. Go before you get too caught up in this puzzle piece, before you get too invested in putting me together.”

“But the other person didn’t budge. Because she knew that actually what the other person was saying was ‘stay, don’t leave me alone. I know it’s wrong and selfish but don’t leave me to pick up the pieces by myself again. I can’t. It’s too hard and I can’t.”

“So she ignored her. And she walked up closed and whispered in her ear.”

“I will pick up the pieces. I will put you back together every time you break. And you don’t have to worry about scratching me, about making my glass less smooth and unable to reflect light.”

“Don’t worry" I say "because scarred tissue is stronger than unblemished skin.”