You come to me, contrite and
silver-tongued, apologies dripping from your lips like sweet nectar.
Tears glisten in your eyes as you look upon the scars you have dealt,
my blackened eyes a pair of deuces.
I have lost this hand.
I have lost this game.
You stroke my hair with silken fingers.
You beg me to take you back. It won't happen again, you tell me over
Forgive and forget and all that.
What else am I to do?
I am shattered glass.
I am shattered.
Glass shattered will still survive.
True, it loses form, growing ever
smaller until it is unrecognizeable.
Glass shattered nearly disappears.
And yet it still goes on, the remains
gathered up again by the tender arms of the earth and molded back
into something new.
I am not shattered.
I am a rock, glistening with broken
glass, facets of me you thought you ruined.
I cannot be destroyed.
When you pick up a piece of sandstone,
hold it to the sunlight and watch it glisten. Know that I am there.
Look upon my many faces and recognize
And should you try to crush me still,
know that one day, I will become the looking glass in which you
finally see yourself.
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge