Broken Glass

Carver Lawson, Special Projects Manager

I’ve realized recently that I rely on my sense of sight too much. 

I’m so fascinated by the image in front of me that I don’t notice my posture is craning my neck, 

and I don’t feel how my body is knotting up from spending all day analyzing the feedback from my eyes, 

and I don’t feel the emptiness in my stomach and the headache from my hunger, 

and I couldn’t sense how my spirit was dead and dry because my fixation was futile, 

and it all didn’t even occur to me until I felt every sensation hit me in one go. 

So I broke my glasses, 

and now I can’t see. 

But I can feel the heaviness weighing down my eyes as I hear my body calling for rest, 

and I can feel the tension in my shoulders and neck that my back left behind, 

and I can even feel those muscles relax with every breath I take, 

and I can understand that I am not upset with you but my own inner turmoils, 

and I can feel my heart soften towards the world and people in it, 

and in these moments I can know my senses have returned to me, 

that I can taste my passions, 

hear my subconscious desires, 

smell the peace in the morning air, 

feel the love of the sun, 

and see through a lens of clarity. 

I broke my glasses and I’ve never had a better sense of sight.