Misfortune

Finders weepers. Losers keepers.

Broken compass

It’s the glass of the window that keeps the yearning window-shopper from touching the mannequin and, in effect, making his pangs consume him.

It’s the glass of an hourglass. Sands of intense feelings trickle, recklessly and irrevocably, from one recess into the other, one painful grain at a time.

It’s the glass of a television that separates two worlds – the unalterable past and the uncertain and at times unthinkable future.

It’s the glass of a photo frame that has imprisoned a life, frozen in the confines of its own past. Touchable, but unchangeable, indelible.

It’s the glass of a one-way mirror. From his side, he sees his glorious future. But from her side, she sees a hurtful resemblance of her past.

It’s the glass of a life support system shackling a being nay dividing the surviving from the living. Free it from its vice-grip and it just might succumb.

It’s the presence; the glass that separates them.

So close yet so far.

Each passing day tells him she is the one.

Each passing day tells him he is not the one.

After all, it takes a diamond to cut glass.