The glass frame fell to the floor.
Pieces scattered along the ground.
I stared at them for a time and marveled, that what kept that picture of us so safe was gone.
A new one can be bought she said, but not like this, this was the one I bought for her with the last of my paycheck.
I was angry that the frame meant that much to her. For days I tried to piece the frame together but to no avail.

It was hopeless, too many pieces, not enough time.
Heh, she didn't care, "buy a new one..." she said.
She still hadn't gotten it.

I bought a new frame, the picture didn't fit, but I didn't care.
I gave her the picture and the frame but kept the broken one. Because it meant more to me than the new.

I left that day, never to return.
I realized what I had done wrong.
Even if I did fix that broken glass, it wouldn't be the same.

The light from our smiles would never be the same, and I was content with that old wobbly frame.