I saw myself in you.
at least I used to.
thin and fragile and smudged
with fingerprints blotting your imperfections
while blurring my reflection;
fingerprints from being handled with care.
in my own clumsy hands
we had never looked so good.

but I dropped you.
you shattered at my feet.
shards of you made hundreds of me
shooting hundreds of glances,
smaller,
still smudged,
embarrassed.
I deserve 7 years of a luck not to speak of.
you deserve to be whole.

and when the smudges are new
from new hands piecing you together
and your broken bits reflect
two hundred new eyes looking back blurred
well,
I hope he cuts himself