I am made entirely out of glass, if you look hard enough you can see the cracks gleaming through from my insides and begging you to fix me from the outside in. I am not something to be forgotten and yet I always am. I am put inside that box without newspaper to keep my edges safe or bubble wrap to hold me in place and even still those precautions will never be as secure  as your hands once were to me.
I'm getting colder with every piece of me that bleeds into the abyss and will never be seen again. By the time we get home next I will have lost another piece of me that you once cherished more than yourself. I'm apalled that you just let me fall away from you so easily when you once told me you adored me more than you adored most things. You polished me daily and put me on the highest shelf, I was the largest priority to you until I started falling apart again and you found other statuettes of glass to keep your company as you waited for me to glue myself together again.
But that's not how this works. You can't just collect knick knacks like it's your hobby, and tell them you hold such a substantial amount of affection for them and move onto the next without even telling the prior that you were sorry you broke them but their needs were no longer important... or perhaps never were.
As you caress the curves of every other goddess you set your eyes on and you become overwhelmed by the beauty of them all, I hope you shatter under the pressure like you shattered the rest of us. I hope you come to the realization that the amount of perfection that you receive in that specific juncture is not your decision any longer.