I can still feel the cold hardness
of the glass
being grasped—
I can steel feel the instant
it fell free
out of my hand—
I can still hear the shattering glass
the dancing
of the pieces—
I can still feel the relief
the regret
the piercing splinters—
I can still wish I was sad and fire
easily endable
brilliantly shatterable—
I can still remember the beauty
of that moment—
the short measure
in which life was perfect.

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