Some broken things could be fixed, but most things would never be the same again. A machine could be fixed, perhaps, but a flower snapped in half had no remedy. A broken vase was a thousand shards of useless porcelain. Such was the nature of all those intangible things that made them who they were -- their metaphorical hearts, their souls, their spirits. It was funny, somehow, that such invisible things could be broken at all, but of course irony would make them the most fragile of things, and once broken, they would never be the same again. Time helped some, but others let time rot away at them even more. Laruku had always let things worsen over time; he never tried hard enough, that was all. He had always been self-destructive.
He inhaled and forgot what he'd been thinking. How can you fix it?
The thousand useless shards of the broken vase had only one destination: the trash, the incinerator. There, each little piece would be broken into a thousand more pieces and a thousand more, until all that was left was dust for the wind. Wasn't it ever grounded creature's wish to fly? Dust could fly. Dust could travel the whole world. Laruku had never been a wanderer, but that was all right. Dandelion seeds flew too, when the time came.