Good Grief 20

Shattered. I keep breaking things. Things that matter. Sometimes I wonder if it is a subconscious thing. Is it some peculiar part of the whole process? Or is it just clumsiness, just an accident? And I don't want to preserve them in aspic. I don't want to pickle them as relics. I want them to continue a proper living, functional life, fulfilling their purpose, whatever that may be, to continue to have a relationship with them. I guess I want this for me too but struggle to have any sense of what that may be. A struggling work still in progress I suppose.

This was one of two lovely glasses that were given to us as a gift. The other was broken a long time ago. I've broken a favourite mug, another mug that was one of a couple and other things along the way. All little losses. It can make me angry and in fits of frustrated despair think, 'ENOUGH ... Is it really necessary for everything, everything, to go?' It would seem so.