You know that feeling when you meet someone, and they reach into your chest and touch a fragile, intricate, blown-glass part of you that no one has ever even seen? Their fingers skim it, and they're very careful and you're afraid they'll break it but then they just smile and the fear doesn't matter anymore? And so you can't help but let them curl their fingers around it because they're so wonderful and careful and it feels so safe and like everything is all right, but -
Then they're torn away from you, so suddenly, and their hand is ripped out of you before they can let go, and so they take that part of you with them. And you're left just gasping in pain, because you may have been hurt before, but it's never hurt this much. And you know it's not their fault they were torn away, but it still hurts.
So the waters rush into that hole, and you slowly close up the outside, keeping them in because something in there is better than nothing, especially after that part of you is gone. And those waters will never replace it, but if that person got torn away, and if they'll never be able to come back… it'll be OK. 'cause hopefully they still have that part of you, even if you don't, anymore. And it'll get better with time, it really will. Because that water-filled part of you, inside, will always ache with loss, but maybe… maybe someday that person will return, and it'll all be all right, again.
: : :
This is the premise for "Blown Glass."