Shared on Pinterest, found on Etsy, original source unknown
We’ve wrapped the family up in thin glass and chipboard, hoping like hell they never fall to the floor. The green glass Virgin had already taken a knock, broken in two right at the waist by an errant dusting. She was something Peter found for pocket change at La Pulga, vessel for what was holy until a cleaning crew cracked her and hid her: a crafted thing, not Mary Queen of Heaven, but still. I’m feeling at least as fragile as all those keepsakes, now. I wonder, if I learn kintsugi, could I repair the glass Virgin and myself, gold lacquer serving as scar and as stitch? No matter—the dead have no care for cracked glass, so why should the living?