What Holds Nothing

I held the pieces while the glue set.

It didn't work. The seam stayed white,

visible beneath. The mug will leak

through the gaps the adhesive couldn't reach,

the microscopic spaces where

the break refused to become whole.

So it sits on my shelf now.

A sealed vessel that holds nothing.

Perfect symbol of trying quietly

and failing anyway.

The white line of adhesive won't hide.

Each time I look at it,

I see the moment I believed

something could be fixed back

into function.

But glue doesn't restore.

It just preserves the fracture.

Seals it. Makes the damage permanent.

Some breaks respond only

to being closed,

not healed.

I keep the mug anyway.

Not because it will be whole again.

But because throwing it away

feels like admitting

that sometimes

all the careful attention

in the world

can't make a broken thing

useful again.

It sits there.

A small monument

to the things

we try to save

and can't.