Destined to Fall

I was angry at you. I slammed the door too hard. The bottle of rum fell from the top of the fridge. I reached to try and save it… like I felt that I had done so many times in the past few weeks…

                              reaching to save it.

To save that bottle of shitty rum. But I just couldn't get a solid hold. It slipped right through my fingers. Shattering to a hundred pieces. Leaving me, on my knees on the kitchen floor, with half of a broken bottle in my hands. A bottle that didn't want to be saved… a bottle that was destined to shatter, leaving me with a mess of sharp, painful pieces to clean up. Pieces that had sliced my hand, bloody, but that seemed so insignificant to the rest of the mess surrounding me.

On my knees, tears streaming down my face, unable to breathe. You ran to me, wrapped your arms around me and said, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

But you knew. You knew why I was crying. That bottle had sat perched on top of the wobbly fridge for months now… I saw it wobble, I knew this was coming, I had ignored it. But it was destined to fall, to shatter, to leave me crouched and crying over the mess it left.