If someone were to push me off the edge, I would break into a bazillion pieces.
I used to be adored at one point.
Beautifully polished, those were my glory days.
After some rough handling, I had cracked a few times.
Eventually, I was broken at one point.
It took ages for me to put myself back together again.
Although I am not as perfect nor as shiny as before,
I am trying my best to mend myself to look as similar to my old self as possible.
It is tough.
Recently, there have been some tremors that had shaken my shelf.
I am slowly moving closer and closer to the edge.
I dread falling down again.
What if I fail to put myself together again this time?
Worse, what if my broken pieces hurt the people around me?
But alas, I am but a glass figure, transparent and helpless, just waiting for one small nudge to end it all.