Monday, August 12, 2013

I stare at the wreckage in front of me.

Pieces scattered all over the floor, like a broken china.

I bent down and picked one up after another, trying to put it all together, trying to make sense of the mess before me.

My fingers bleed, and tears wet my cheek.

But I didn't stop.

Because these pieces are my life,  and no matter how painful or hard it is, I have to make it work.

Because this is my life.

We don't get a second chance in living our life, after all.

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