The stone, the starling and the shore.

There is a stone laying on a large pane of glass. You are laying on the glass with it and you’ve spent short years laying together. You have enjoyed the peaceful, enjured the turblant and the stone and yourself have become as weather beaten as the glass you both lay on. The years of rain have gathered so long that the weight of history pressures the glass to cracking point, you slowly strech your every inch of your skin as to keep the creaking glass from breaking but the glass inevitably does. You grip on to just one more year, one more Christmas, just one more day. The glass cuts your hands to the bone and you’re afraid. The fear of survival overwhelms the fear of your demise, yet you can’t let the stone go. As you fall into the lonely unknown, a giant starling catchs you and carries you on her back to her peaceful shore of fallen stones. Every passing minute the tides of serendipity wash your wounds and every liberating breath sets you free from the worries and guilt of broken glass. Yet every crashing wave sounds like glass breaking.