Hypocrisy , and fast acting glue
one you broke it, try your best to fix. but you planned to break it. deep down, ya know you did. you just couldn't stand the noise it was making. so what does it matter, really if you placed it in such a precarious position, where a feather falling in the next town over, would be enough to cause it to fall. or was it that you slammed your hand and it jumped in a "regretful" trajectory. the point is, that now it is an un-thing. if it was a Norwegian blue you could do the whole sketch, oh you'd soooo want to..but it was no Norwegian blue. it was nothing that could be said to be pining for the fjords. and now it's smashed to bits. it's not an it anymore, even. that would assume that the entity it used to be, the one you so loathed is still extant.
well, it isn't.
have no fear, it shall not, like the Phoenix, rise from the ashes.
now you are left with a choice. you can pretend to try to fix it, with glue, or to boohoo, and feign the tragic needle that bereft you of such an artifact of sublime happiness. fixing, will be futile. the thing is broken. but by holding the fig leaf of persistent restoration, you might avert the buying of a replacement. "no no" you might cry "it will not be like it was, but the memories will keep it going, or some touchy-feely tripe like that. you could pretend such endeavour and perhaps avert the looming possibility of facing such an irksome devise ever again.
or you might, take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them.
i work well with glue. i don't mind the scaly feeling i get on my fingers, as the stuff hardens. i don't mind the smell and the obvious danger of cancer or brain damage that shall ensue. i take the risk of that, and not express my hatred for the thing openly. even if it is not a great secret.
but, watch, that while i glue and mend, i might look if i got away with it. and plan my clandestine revenge of all those little awful things that pissed me off...