Maybe, His initial thought was “What of the texture of glass” One Saturday, in RorriM town, his eyes accidentally caught a tiny glimpse of it He recalled the sounds, and the break of it And ever since then, of that indulgent memory, he couldn’t get rid of it He fantasized of it and of seeing through it The mere thought of glass tantalized him He dreamt of glass Occasionally, he would wake up with slit fingertip cuts

Over time his peers came to give him recurring bottom lip cuts His thoughts were, “glass is tantamount to plastic??” He was verbose, while still questioning himself, Of it, he spoke of the most They all laughed, even his “friends” new that it was ‘bad’ to speak of, think of glass His mind consumed it as ‘good,’ he was perturbed that no one else saw it as ‘good’

A month ago, in the sun he saw a pearl glass at the threshold He ran to go and reach to it, of it he merely wanted to hold We’ve never seen glass before that day, and we simply thought that our friend was going through a silly phase But, someone maliciously pushed him off the edge And when we, his classmates looked off the ledge All we saw was a mass of tiny pieces of glass Glimmers smiling back at us in the sun Light reflecting frolicsome We’ve been doing him wrong for so long We shouldn’t have made him the cause of hateful songs

My story is at its end And Eddie, who I now call my friend, I guess now, he lives in shiny tiny broken pieces of glass Where perhaps, I hope, I pray, he finally feels at home at last

Inspired by him, R.I.P. Eddie Tilmond