TheOriginalRaven

i had picked up my favorite vase, thin fingers sliding across painted sides, when i realized we are the same. we are too feeble, too exquisite for we are composed of ceramic. i am calm when the vase peppers the floor, its sharp edges approaching my feet. but i am not done. the slick red contrasts with the light grey and i am careful to remove every trace. "we are broken," i say "but we can be repaired for gold dust will seal our fragmented frames and emphasize that this is a minuscule event. we have use yet."

I sit at the hearth, in some rat filled tavern. I drown my sorrows in the vinegar that the man behind the bar dares to call wine. I am numb to the world. The tides sings in my veins but I ignore it. Another night passes and I have not moved from my seat. People in the room stare furtively through the hearth smoke, and whisper that I am not of this world. The barman keeps them from me for the moment, for he is well paid in forgotten coins. My reverie is interrupted by a sailor, the wine heavy on his breath. He suggests obscenity and I ignore him. He reaches for my arm and I flee the tavern, his face a picture of shock at my dissolution. I seek