We created a beautiful work of art.

It shined and glimmered,
glittered and sparkled.
It was magnificent.

It sat on a pedestal,
waiting for the day we hung it up,
safe from  the clumsy hands of others,
out of the way of danger and destruction.

And then I bumped it.
It was all accidental, I didn't know,
just what I'd done.

It wasn't even in slow motion.
There wasn't that moment of hope,
when you think that you can catch it.
It just smashed.

Pieces were everywhere.
Tiny glass pieces littered the floor.
I wept and you angered.
You never forgave me.

I tried to pick the pieces up.
They cut my fingers,
no longer the picture of beauty,
but of harsh reality.

I put our piece of art back together,
as best I could.
What did you do?
You threw it back to the ground.
Again I worked to fix it.

Over and over, I presented you with
what I thought we were, what we could be still.
Over and over, you threw it to the floor.
I kept telling myself that the cuts and the pain
would be worth it. Don't give up.

I've learned that, no matter how hard I try,
I can't fix it.
Not on my own.
I need your help. Won't you help me?
Don't you remember what we were?
Do you remember that beautiful
shining
glimmering
faceted piece of art that we made?

No?
Well, I'll keep trying.
Let me know when you want to
lend me a pair of gloves or,
even help me pick up some pieces.