[“Glass is amorphous.”

“What?”

“Glass. It’s non-crystalline. Non-structured. Non-solid and non-liquid. It doesn’t belong in any one category. It gives itself its own definition.”

“Maybe that’s why glass shatters easily.”

“Everything breaks at some point; some just take longer than others.

At least it was beautiful while it lasted.”]

 

Glass had always held a special meaning to you

All kinds of glass

Blown glass, clear glass, smoked glass, broken glass

Wherever you went

The disorderly array of glass charms on your backpack

Tinkled like wind chimes with each step 

You didn’t seem to be afraid that they might someday break

 

But you didn’t like mirrors

Unlike the others, you didn’t care about your own reflection

Didn’t like being defined

Didn’t like seeing how you appeared to be 

Because it wasn’t really you

 

Glass appears to be solid

But it’s deceptive

In reality, it is unbound

Free-flowing

Neither solid nor liquid

But something else entirely

 

When your charms finally broke

Thrown to the ground amidst the face of jeering and laughter

You didn’t say a word

Just picked up the broken pieces and carried them away

It didn’t seem to bother you

As much as they would’ve liked it to

The glass was the same

Broken as it was whole

 

Glass can take on many forms

Just as you could embody so many ideals all at once

A figure of glass who could not be broken easily

An insurgent who did not obey the words carved in stone

A human being, once ordinary, who gave herself her own definition

and transcended the unwritten boundaries

 

You were not perfect

You were not invincible

Yet you were amorphous in a world of pure solid and liquid