I’ve talked about the glass before. One part of one shard of many.

That relationship had 3 significant breaks in glass.

The first was your average pink pyrex. It held two porkchops.

This was one of my first forays into something beyond scrambled eggs or grilled cheese for my beloved.

I tried what was in my mind reminiscent of what I grew up eating.

Shake and Bake.

This wasn’t impressive to the Sous Chef.

As he opened the oven to remove the dish, it shattered half inside, half outside of the oven.

His remarks didn’t matter. Dinner was ruined regardless.

The second great glass break was from a rather funky three tiered tempered glass and metal coffee table.

The colors were of misty white, pale green and aqua- it had the quality of sea glass in the sun.

I got it for free from my manager at Papa Johns. She was looking to “mature her home”, though she was only a young, married, twenty-two year old with a small child.

That end table busted in the glare of sunlight coming through the east facing window, right around the time I found out my manager was cheating on her husband with the assistant manager who also had a child and serious partner.

I personally broke the glass the third time.

They say third time is the charm.

It isn’t until now that I remember the two warnings I didn’t listen to.

Not even years ago, when that glass that I broke, that was embedded into my breast and years after became abscess- did I think of those other shattering occurrences.

Though I knew the whole time we were constantly breaking ourselves and each other, just to be together.