When we talked of love you spoke of a bowl pouring a drop into many others’, and I spoke of a singular object that can be passed to one person, alone. You gave me a drop, and I gave you all of me. I don’t expect you to return those shattered pieces of myself that I once handed over so freely, and I wouldn’t ask you to do that, so I have to rebuild on my own.

I stick my hands upon the clay and craft my own heart from the dust of a thousand lands mixed with the elixir of eternal happiness, knowing full well that one day this token will belong to someone new. It’s taken me a while to become whole again, and I don’t think I’ve reached my destination yet, but I know I’m on my way.