I have spilled the glass, one too many times. but it is okay. in the wake of my every fall the world echoes comfort with convincing whispers:
dear child, do not cry over spilled milk. there is no use in being upset. do not shed a tear, do not reflect, do not regret, do not forgive, do not learn, do not feel. to feel, is of too much expense.
do ignore, do move on. do cut short your tears, do not mind spilling many glasses again.
they engrain it so deep that one day when you find yourself spilling glasses, like a tornado destroying all in your path—you can convince yourself without a trouble:
there is no use crying over a broken world. there is no use in crying over broken glass.