It is all just broken shards of glass now.The colors that shone so brightly are dull and dead.The patterns had made such beautiful images, how I miss them.Each image was a promise of endless bright days and nights to come. Now it’s just a jumble of jagged lines.There is no one with me to hear, but I bravely speak.“I should pick them up, try to clean up the mess.” I try, but they cut me, and I bleed, and my heart cries out...