Some say, don't burn your bridges. I say, if necessary, let the kerosene kiss it on the lips, and watch it turn to ash. There's always more than one way to cross the water.
On the day you couldn't hold yourself together anymore, you called for me, voice crackling like two sets of knuckles before an altercation. I found you, looking like a damaged wine glass. I hugged your shatter, I cut all of my fingers trying to jigsaw puzzle you back together. When it was over, you looked at the stains on the carpet and blamed me for making a mess.