She stares at her reflection.
She sees broken glass, the jagged fragments that are ever so fragile,
willing to break skin and draw blood with each subtle movement.
He sees a stained glass piece of artwork.
A perfect compilation of imperfect pieces.
She tells him to be careful,
and tries to explain the risk of each sharp fragment,
but he only appreciates her delicate nature.
She turns on when the light hits her in the perfect angle.
Each color comes alive and so does she.
When the light fades,
she sees a disappointing array of colorless colors.
She points him in every other direction,
to the paintings and sculptures that never fade nor require sunlight for beauty,
but for some reason she can’t understand, he stays.
To this one observer, she isn’t simply an array of unwanted broken pieces.
He somehow sees the beauty in each imperfect piece carefully placed among the rest to create perfection.
She is broken and he loves her.