Cool porcelain covered with an intricate web woven of cracks.
Each line weaving under and through another like some sort of broken dance.
Small chips and nicks litter the brim, like small canyons and valleys between rolling hills.
Slowly within each flaw, a story unfolds, telling of late-night talks and early morning chills.
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There's a chip on the rim, just a smidge from the handle.
It has a story inside so quaint and quiet.
One night long ago a woman sat thinking.
She was remembering her past and all the memories of joy.
While contemplating the future and what adventures it might bring.
She sat at a small table alone, her cup cradled sweetly between aged and withered hands.
Slowly sipping a sweet-smelling brew.
Up late that night letting her memories renew.
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A thin faded crack dances across the side of this cup.
Weaving a tale of a love full of pain.
A cool spring evening, some time ago, a relationship shattered beyond repair.
They stood across from each other, the tabletop feeling live a vast cavern.
Voicing their pain and screaming their fears.
A lonely cup set upon it’s platter when the force of a man's pain caused it to clatter
They stayed there so late,
A once sweet love soured with hate.
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Each of these chips that scatter the surface,
Every crack the dances between one another.
They may be imperfect and considered a flaw,
But they each tell a story unique and special.
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Instead of calling them flaws and mistakes,
We should fill them with gold so we remember each story they hold.
There is a beauty in the flaws if your willing to look,
Just watch and listen to each of their tales.
Points: 387
Reviews: 2
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