Traitors.
They could come from anywhere.
Always pay attention. Anyone could do it.
Tense. Quiet. Prepared.
Listening. Reading. Watching.
Some people I could trust.
But isn’t trust such a fragile, little thing?
Every chink, every crack,
I can repair the shattered pieces with gold, perhaps.
But that doesn’t get rid of them.
That merely highlights the cracks.
I need to repair the shards.
The vase is just so broken.
The more you all broke, the harder it became.
Until the vases became nothing but dust.
Gold dust.
Ceramic.
Making me sneeze,
My eyes watering against my will.
I have just let the powder slip through my fingers.
You can’t paint gold into dust.
Dust is impossible to repair.
You.
All of you.
I have just
One question.
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Will you remake your vases with me?
Or will you leave me yet again to pick up the pieces?
Put them back together with glue and gold
So that I remember every detail?
I need to heal.
But you need to do more.
The scars.
The phantom pain.
The tears, the racing, beating, Tell-Tale Heart.
The trembling, shaking hands.
The vases, plates, bowls,
All in pieces
Some big, some small.
Will you take the steps you need?
Will you make another vase?
Some are already naught but dust.
But I need only one thing to repair them.
Admit it.
You’re the ones who shattered them.
I merely kept my silence.
But no.
More.
One Year.
Only One Year.
Remake the pottery.
Or I’ll just dust myself off, and break these chains myself.
