Pottery in Love

Another love

Pottery in love 

I don’t know
if my hands remember
how to hold love—
not without breaking it.

I once shaped something soft,
spun it steady on a wheel,
watched it take form
under trembling fingers.

And still—
it shattered.

Now you stand here,
offering me something gentle,
something new,
and I am afraid
of the weight of it.

I want to love you—
like wet clay wants form,
like empty hands want purpose.

But I am cracked earth,
dried too many times,
edges too sharp
to press into something whole.

They say broken things
can be mended—
gold poured into fractures,
beauty found in ruin.

But I have been broken
beyond the art of kintsugi.

So if I love you,
it won’t be the same.

It will be slow—
uneven, uncertain,
hands relearning
how to shape without fear.

I will have to begin again,
at the wheel,
with nothing but dust and water,
and the hope
that this time,
I don’t ruin
what I’m trying to create.