Shatter

She shattered, but not the way glass did.

There was no pretty tinkering as the pieces scattered about, no large crash so that everyone turned and stared.

No she shattered like the branch of a dying evergreen that had finally become too much for the body to carry. Fibres strained, separated and snapped, ligaments stretched and tore, bones fragmented, skin split like dry bark and flaked away exposing the amber long dried.

It was slow and constant, her own strength extending the torture, her stubbornness no longer a virtue.

But she was whole, held together by vines of lies and shallow smiles that dangled the last leaves mere inches from the ground, denying the peace of finality.

Nobody hears the wind and knows that the whispers are tears.

No one sees the smiles trying to rewind the years of hushed torment and trimmed foliage, salt-water poisoning and fear.

What if she dies alone in a forest of people?

That question ensnares her heart and nicks it with tiny thorns each time she dares to hope someone will notice her.

All too often she will remember that a tree can die and remain standing for years without anyone realising that it is nothing but an empty husk of what once was.

How long will she long to be tinder for a fire, if only to taste warmth once more before she fades to ash.