• This piece, its shape resembled a heart..

    I touched it gently and pressed it to my chest..

    Its cold and sharp, fine lines inch from its center,

    Like veins, splintering in every direction...

    Fresh droplets of blood seep from where I pressed the glass to flesh.

    Blood, red as fresh wine, drip slowly down my finger tips

    Down the glass...

    Down to the floor...

    I peer up, hoping to find him there.

    Atlas, I only see myself...

    With a shattered heart in, my hands...