I am a cup that used to be filled with love, filled with hope. Filled with ease, filled with calm.
Most of the contact I've had over the years has been with serrated edges: objects too hard and sharp for my delicacy.
Consequently my once smooth edges have cracked - at the base, at the rim, inside and outside, making me brittle. All this hope and love and ease and calm slipped right through. It began gradually, but soon these elements gushed right through my fractures to find a new, less broken home.
I sat on my dish patiently. I stopped waiting for sweet contents to pour back into me because I accepted that sweetness deserved a safe and elegant chalice. I, however, was neither of these. Thus, I sought bitterness and acidity. These would settle for a dreadful thing like me.
Time passed and I became more worn down and anything and everything I once accommodated has depleted. Left empty and utterly irreparable, I once more sat alone.
Then came You: harboring no intentions of piecing me ba