It's Still Life

Kintsugi for the Unfriend

We were porcelain once—
smooth to the touch,
holding the light
like a shared secret.

Then the fracture:
a word dropped,
a silence grown too heavy,
the map of us
redrawn in fault lines.

Now the gold comes—
not to mend,
but to make memories
of what broke.

Each lacquered seam
a testimony:
Here is where we held.
Here is where we learned
to let go without
shattering the whole.

The bowl won’t hold water now,
its hold is gone.
But oh, how it catches the sun—
turning every scar
into light’s lesson.

Some scars are gold,
there to remind you:
what broke you
also made you.