I thought my wine glass was empty.
I brought it up high
I was standing on a cold concrete floor
I didn’t let it fall, I threw it down with force.
I sliced open my fingers
As I picked up the shards
To give them away.
It had been able to hold onto a few last drops.
All the glue and good intentions
Will never put me back together the same.
The many subtle scars on my hands
Do not cover the gaps in the glass when I hold it,
And they will never replace those missing shards
When I search for a refill.