The Crack

The glass window in my room has a crack, silver snakes coming from all directions and cumulating into one. I do not know whether it fell prey to a zooming stone, or an angry fist or a naughty toy. But that crack makes me feel at home.

For that crack in the window is a reflection of the crack in my heart. For that crack does not give in, does not shatter into a thousand pieces. It hangs on, just like the one in my heart.

And in the mornings, when the first gold spray of the sun finds its way through the crack, it lights up the one in my heart too.

That crack in my window is hope, it is my silver lining.

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