She called it the blue hour;
It was the most beautiful twilight I had ever seen.
We stood in the dark, by a window trimmed with golden oak,
and between the pines I felt the universe.
The snow, it glowed for us.
And as we awaited moonrise,
I staggered.
It was below freezing but
I was on fire.
I turned toward her;
she was my blue hour.
“I love you” she whispered as she caught me.
“Don’t let me go.”
She did.

I swore I would never be put back together by someone else again.

But when you’ve incurred hundreds of stitches
trying to reconnect your own jagged pieces,
you tell yourself that it’s better this way.
Better to allow someone else to be your adhesive
than to risk shattering completely.

But then she leaves.

Her duct tape grip is ripped from my skin and I am broken again.

I will have to learn how to put myself back together one day.
And so, I reach down and pick up the first piece of glass.

I will bleed forever without her.