The One Who Sits on the Floor and Doesn't Fix (Healing)

Lyrics

The pieces were on the floor.
Not metaphorically.
The Wedgwood cup from my grandmother, shattered.
November third. A Tuesday.

You came in without knocking.
You saw the mess.
My hands were slick from trying to pick up the edges.
I was waiting for the words.
The "it's just a cup" or the "we can get a new one."
I was waiting for the dustpan and brush.

But you just took your coat off, the grey wool one from Marks & Spencer.
And you sat down on the floorboards with me.
Not next to me, just… in the room.
You sat on the floor and you didn't try to fix it.
You didn't say a word.

The four o'clock light came through the window, making long shadows from the sofa legs.
The dust motes were dancing in it.
A bus sighed past on Grafton Street.
I could hear the kettle starting to whistle in the kitchen, forgotten.
We just sat there.
You looked at the largest piece of the cup, the one with the blue willow branch, and you just… looked at it.

You just took your coat off, the grey wool one from Marks & Spencer.
And you sat down on the floorboards with me.
Not next to me, just… in the room.
You sat on the floor and you didn't try to fix it.
You didn't say a word.

My mother sent a link to Kübler-Ross.
My brother told me to be strong.
Everyone had a proverb, a plan, a phone number.
They brought hammers to fix a splinter.
They brought maps for a place I wasn't going.
But you… you just brought the quiet.
You honored the wound by not covering it up.

You left an hour later.
The pieces were still on the floor.
The blood was dry on my hands.
Nothing was fixed.
But the room felt bigger.
There was air in it again.
Just… air.