Nothing breaks even

not a cup
nor a cookie
nor a heart.

we tend to break
without knowing
in how many pieces
we've shattered into;

nor we care
when the pain
floods us
like the rain
floods the land.

How could you split
joy and sorrow
by half? Balance out
every tear and laugh?
Fit experience
in the precise
shade of gray?

I won't hold my heart
responsible for breaking
only, in even parts.

Happiness doesn't mind
having so little,
while despair has so much;
and neither do I.

'Cause even a minuscule speck
of gratitude accounts for
the insurmountable grief;

and while they won't be
comparable in size,
my heart knows
how to see them as a whole.