Shapeshifter

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 and over.

Forgive and forget and all that.

What else am I to do?

I am shattered glass.

I am shattered.

And yet...

Glass shattered will still survive.

True, it loses form, growing ever smaller until it is unrecognizeable.

Indiscernable.

Unnoticed.

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 me.

And should you try to crush me still, know that one day, I will become the looking glass in which you finally see yourself.

~end~

This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge.