I broke it again. That little bit of integrity I carry around in case of an emergency. I took it out, I wanted to have a look at it. Of course, I dropped it. It shattered into more pieces than I could count. I’d say it was a disaster, but it really was more of a hassle. Such a mess.
I remember the first time I held it. It burned like fire, blistered my conscience, nearly killed me. Intense. A whole lifetime it took to heal, it’s healing still, but I have finally gotten the hang of coping. I have learned to let it drop. To break it. Otherwise, the fire might consume me and leave me in ashes. I’d blow away but my words would stay. What would be the point of that?
Still, it might be nice to die at peace. It might be nice to die with honor. It might be nice to make a vow to be parted only by death and to die having kept my promise. Or it might be a lifetime of burning torture and death a welcome relief. How would I know? I can’t stand being burned anymore.
I will always break my promises. I will always protect myself from being bound to him and he. I’ll never be a them or a we. I’ll be Mary. A liar. Alone. A vow breaker. Alone. Alone but unmarked. Alone but unforsaken. I will always be alone.