belle.
i remember the day
i saw my belle.
stood before a great glass window
and oh, she was pretty.
young eyes, innocent cheeks,
one little, beautiful heart.
my glass belle,
whole,
smiling right back at me.
carried carefully
everywhere i went.
she's a delicate one, my belle is.
if my belle were simply older,
she would be worn at the edges.
but no -
broken is the little glass doll inside of me.
hurled,
dropped,
hammered.
and now, all that remains are shards.
and yet, i prize every shard.
especially those that make me bleed -
those that will never heal -
i will cherish those for eternity.
Copyright © Stasya Volkova | Year Posted 2026
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