What we break–suddenly, abruptly–we feel regret, guilt. We feel the need to fix a broken object. A vase. A cup. A toy. But it is not the object we want fixed; only the feelings of guilt we want go away. The knowledge that something is no longer there because of us is too much to handle.
But what we neglect, let wither and die, we feel no shame. Nature and time were the murderers. Not us. There is nothing we can do, for they are dead not by our hands but by the way it just is.