Falling Apart

It seems that I'm the only uncracked egg left in the carton. My mother sprained her arm. She bandaged it up herself with tan gauze and closed it first-aid style, as if she was back at camp and fell off a canoe onto a rock, and they lost their paddle, and... and this metaphor is getting longwinded, I'll move on. My father stretched his shoulder. He leaves it like normal and tries not to say anything about it to me, with little etchings of discomfort on his cheeks as if unable to erased. And me? I'm insanely fine. So here I am, feeling like I shouldn't be so serene. So here I am, feeling it is wrong to be happy. So here I am, half of me, away from the rest, not caring. Being happy is nice.