7.9 on the Richter Scale

Our surface is riddled with fractures. Years of tension and compression have left us inherently broken in this way. But this is normal, natural. A characteristic of any creation that has survived over time, evading its inevitable self-destruction.

Mostly, we ignore them. That’s what area rugs are for. Problem solved.

We exist in pseudo-harmony. We believe ourselves to be happy, healthy. These cracks are not lethal—not even noticeable—until movement begins.

The movement is unavoidable. We are dynamic beings. We shift, we stretch.

And suddenly, tension forms. Minute at first. Small enough still to pretend it doesn’t exist. I feel it at my surface, we have shifted slightly and have snagged each other somewhere.

Do I search for the point of tension? The exact spot where we’ve caught? Let’s address this now and release each other before the tension builds.

You choose not to join me on my quest. I search, but it’s no use. I can’t navigate our jagged edges alone. And so, we buy a thicker rug.

I am skeptical of this method, but you assure me, and I let it go. After all, it’s just a small hitch. No real harm can be done just yet. We have time.

Early the next morning, a massive quake jolts me awake. I’m thrown from my bed, the walls begin to crumb. I call out to you and find a massive rift between us. This wasn’t so small after all. It was bigger than I ever could have imagined.

I’m hurt, confused, frustrated, irritated, exasperated, angry. I’m angry.

You’re hurt and angry too.

This isn’t just a huge crack we must mend, our brittle exteriors are littered with microcracks as well.

We each sift through the rubble alone and lick our wounds.

Can we ever truly repair this? Is this how we end?