Fragile

We are china dolls living in glass houses. The smallest of things can break us. Even paper cuts us. Our hearts are made of clay, constantly changing and easily squished. We drive in bubbles that can burst at the slightest impact, and us with it. Yet some people drive as if we were invincible. We collect things that rust and disintegrate, we value the numbers on tests and money in the bank, and we search for temporary solutions to monumental problems. Our lives are wisps in the wind, a dot on a line, a millisecond in comparison to 1,000 years.