I am cleaning shards of a broken glass. Piece by piece, but they seem to have been spread everywhere. Some more invisible than others. Some sharper than others. Some capable of piercing through my skin and gushing the coursing velvet liquid out. And some merely reflecting the sunshine that falls on them. 

I apologize to the shard that just took my blood. I apologize because I see it is gnawed from the edges. It has been broken. It was a part of something, and now? It just lies there. Helpless and waiting to be thrown away.