It's a word we use to describe something of value, that must not be broken. Glass and crystal break, but they can be replaced without too much heartache. A snazzy pair of designer sunglasses hurts a bit more. A nice phone, with all your life on it, oh, that just kills.
Which reminds me. Children break too.
Some of us you can glue back together and we shall go on. Distorted, disfigured, damaged forever, a bit lopsided but still - alive. Never as alive as we might have been, but at least, not dead (although sometimes, some of us wish we were), and so we go on. We may even come to think of our shattered mess of a childhood as a mosaic, and find beauty in it, and then find a way to share that beauty with the rest of you.
But sometimes the pieces can't be fixed back together.
Because no one saw.
Or someone looked but chose not to see.
Or looked and then looked away.
Or perhaps we just looked too late. Too late to do anything but light a candle and shed some tears, and rage - in sincere pain - at the injustice of it all. We rage and we grieve, and our horror is true. We rage and we grieve, but that is all we do.
Just like the last time.
And so I hope, as we gather together her shards to toss them in our bottomless pit of unlearned lessons, that our hands bleed, because her blood was already on our hands.