Irreplaceable

I saw it abandoned on the side of the road. 

It called to me.

I walked closer and closer, hesitant and fearful.  

But in my heart I knew it was mine 

And I couldn't live without it.

I scooped it from the mud and the debris of the gutter.

I tenderly wiped it clean.

I held it up to the light and admired it.

I brought it home and put it in a place of honour.

I spent part of every day with it.

I stroked it, running my fingers over every inch.

I found all the little imperfections, surface scars, from a lifetime of experiences. 

They just made it even more beautiful to me.

 

In its imperfections I found a way to accept my own imperfections. 

In its light, I found a way to accept my own darkness.

Day after day I stroked my prize.

Exploring every curve.

Tracing every seam.

Feeling every crack. 

Caressing every bump and divot.

Then one day there were cracks where there hadn't been before.

 

My devotion had strained my treasure in ways it had never been strained before 

Still beautiful to me, but now fragile.

Holding it was fraught with peril.

I tried to place it on the shelf and admire it from afar.

I tried to find a new love that I could adore in its place.

I tried.

 

But it called to me. 

It was irreplaceable. 

The only one I wanted.

New fissures appeared.  

Devotion alone was not enough to save it. 

In tears, I bowed my head, with sorrow I returned my treasure to the potter.

And prayed.