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Heart of Glass

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Never drop glass; it shatters. It's fragments spin through the air, light catching off the shards and projecting momentary rainbows onto the surface around it. As it hits, listen to the piece slice open, then tiny droplets of pieces following. As the last sliver spins into a stop, you'd take a step, forgetting that the bits are sharper than a knife. First, just a solitary drop of ruby liquid as it splashes down, and then the whole flow. Like a river. You call for help and no one comes. Left to clean yourself, clean the mess; alone. The one who caused you to drop the glass is gone and if there would probably make it worse by scattering the shards throughout. After all his been repaired, cleaned, the glass put in a case to keep it safe but blocking the beauty, you move on. There is a strange fear of this glass now though. You won't share it with anyone until you are certain. And even at that it may be broken again. You know though, it will always be repairable until someone comes with a pillow for this glass, and who watches it and loves it and calls it their own. And when it is broken then, it may never be repairable.





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