And my characters, where would they be without their broken parts? The comedy of lives gone mad. The loss that emanates out of them, making the reader (hopefully!) want to sink deeper into the story to find their own lost pieces.
The question is about every day life. How does someone hold on to another person who can't hold it all together for themselves?
Each day, I try to glue back the pieces of me that broke off the day before. Lately they don't stick as well as they used to, and the soft, unknown parts underneath show through.
What will happen if the glue stops working altogether?
Once, he told me I pushed everyone away. My father, my previous boyfriends, everyone.
I was angry then. But maybe he's right.
And the thing is.... I don't even know if I WANT to glue the pieces back. Maybe I want them to fall to the ground so I can see, once and for all, the rawness underneath.
She might be ugly. She might be mad. She might be brilliant. She might be unlovable.
Where is love? Is it in the pieces, the glue, or the underneath? I'm too scared to find out.