The frost cracks the pane. You feel it in your teeth. The glass is thin. It is brittle. It is failing. You are the glazier. You have the tools. You have the skill. The shop is cold. The air is sharp. It cuts your lungs. You breathe in. You breathe out. The sound is a rattle. You are old. Your hands are stiff. They do not bend right. You look at the break. It is a web. It is a spider’s trap. It is ugly. It is inevitable.

You pick up the pliers. The metal is cold. It bites your skin. You pull the shards. They fall. They clatter on the floor. The sound is like teeth chattering. You look at your brother. He is there. He is sitting. He is watching. He does not move. He does not speak. He is a statue. He is a ghost. He is dead. He is not dead. He is waiting.

You put the pliers down. You pick up the cutter. The wheel is hard. It bites the glass. You draw a line. The line is straight. The line is true. You push. The glass sighs. It breaks. The piece falls. It hits the floor. It shatters. You do not flinch. You do not blink. You are used to the sound. You are used to the pain. You are used to the loss.

The shop is a museum of failures. Every piece of glass is a mistake. Every crack is a memory. You fix them. You cannot fix them. You only replace them. You are a mechanic of light. You are a surgeon of sight. The light comes in. It is blue. It is cold. It is indifferent. It does not care about you. It does not care about him. It just is.

You look at the mirror. It is cracked. It is broken. You see your face. It is old. It is tired. It is empty. You see him. He is young. He is strong. He is alive. He is gone. You reach for the mirror. Your hand shakes. The glass cuts you. The blood is red. It is bright. It is warm. You look at the blood. You do not wipe it. You let it drip. It falls on the floor. It falls on the shards. It is a sacrifice. It is a prayer. It is a mistake.

You think about the cycle. You think about the wheel. You think about the turning. You cannot stop it. You cannot escape it. You are bound. You are tied. You are chained. The chain is made of glass. It is invisible. It is sharp. It cuts you. You bleed. You do not scream. You are silent. You are still. You are empty.

The door opens. The wind blows in. The candles die. The shop is dark. The shop is cold. You are alone. He is there. He is everywhere. He is in the glass. He is in the light. He is in the cold. He is in you. You feel him. You feel the weight. You feel the pressure. It is too much. It is too heavy. You cannot carry it. You cannot hold it. You must let go.

You pick up the hammer. The head is heavy. The handle is rough. You swing it. The blow is hard. The blow is true. The mirror shatters. The glass flies. It cuts the air. It cuts you. You do not feel it. You do not care. You swing again. The blow is softer. The blow is slower. You are tired. You are weak. You are done.

The glass is gone. The mirror is gone. The reflection is gone. You are gone. You are not gone. You are here. You are still. You are empty. The shop is empty. The air is still. The silence is loud. The silence is sharp. It cuts you. It cuts him. It cuts everything.

You sit down. The chair creaks. The wood is old. The wood is weak. It breaks. You fall. You hit the floor. The shards cut you. The pain is sharp. The pain is clear. You feel it. You feel it all. You feel the past. You feel the present. You feel the future. It is one thing. It is a single point. It is a needle. It pierces you. It goes through you. It comes out the other side.

You look up. The ceiling is high. The ceiling is dark. The light is gone. The cold is here. The cold is in you. The cold is in him. The cold is in the glass. The glass is gone. The cold remains. You are the cold. You are the silence. You are the empty space. You are the absence.

You think about the nature of the work. You think about the craft. You think about the skill. It is useless. It is void. It is nothing. You cannot fix the broken. You cannot mend the shattered. You cannot heal the wound. You can only cover it. You can only hide it. You can only pretend. The pretense is a lie. The lie is a glass wall. It is transparent. It is fragile. It is ready to break.

You remember the day. The day he left. The day he broke. The day you tried. You tried to hold him. You tried to save him. You failed. You always fail. You are a glazier. You are a failure. You are a wreck. You are a ruin.

The wind howls. The wind screams. The wind is angry. The wind is sad. The wind is tired. The wind is old. The wind is dead. The wind is alive. The wind is everything. The wind is nothing.

You close your eyes. The darkness is thick. The darkness is soft. The darkness is warm. You sink into it. You drift into it. You dissolve into it. You are the glass. You are the light. You are the cold. You are the silence. You are the end.

You open your eyes. The light is back. The sun is up. The day is new. The shop is empty. The floor is covered in shards. The blood is dry. The blood is black. The blood is gone. You are here. You are still. You are empty.

You stand up. Your legs are weak. Your knees are stiff. You bend. You pick up a shard. It is small. It is sharp. It is beautiful. You hold it. You look at it. You see your face. It is cracked. It is broken. It is you. You are it. It is him. It is everyone.

You put the shard down. You pick up another. You pick up another. You pick up all of them. You gather them. You hold them. They cut you. You bleed. You do not care. You are the container. You are the vessel. You are the holder. You hold the pain. You hold the loss. You hold the memory.

You walk to the door. The door is cold. The door is heavy. You push it. It opens. The light floods in. The light is bright. The light is blinding. You squint. You blink. You step out.

The street is empty. The air is cold. The air is sharp. You breathe in. You breathe out. The sound is a rattle. You are old. Your hands are stiff. They do not bend right. You look at the sky. It is blue. It is clear. It is empty. It is waiting.

You walk. You walk slowly. You walk carefully. You do not look down. You do not look back. You walk forward. You walk on. The path is long. The path is hard. The path is endless. You are on the path. You are in the cycle. You are in the turn. You are in the wheel.

You cannot stop. You cannot escape. You are bound. You are tied. You are chained. The chain is made of glass. It is invisible. It is sharp. It cuts you. You bleed. You do not scream. You are silent. You are still. You are empty.

You reach the corner. The corner is sharp. The corner is hard. You turn. You turn slowly. You turn carefully. You do not look. You do not see. You feel. You feel the weight. You feel the pressure. It is too much. It is too heavy. You cannot carry it. You cannot hold it. You must let go.

You let go. You drop it. You drop the pain. You drop the loss. You drop the memory. You drop the glass. It falls. It shatters. The sound is like teeth chattering. The sound is like a heart breaking. The sound is like a soul leaving.

You stand still. You breathe. You are empty. You are light. You are free. You are not free. You are still bound. You are still tied. You are still chained. The chain is made of glass. It is invisible. It is sharp. It cuts you. You bleed. You do not scream. You are silent. You are still. You are empty.

The sun sets. The light fades. The cold returns. The dark returns. The silence returns. You are in the dark. You are in the cold. You are in the silence. You are in the glass. You are in the light. You are in the cold. You are in the silence. You are in the end.

You are the glazier. You are the failure. You are the wreck. You are the ruin. You are the cycle. You are the turn. You are the wheel. You are the shard. You are the light. You are the cold. You are the silence. You are the empty. You are the full. You are the one. You are the many. You are the nothing. You are the everything.

The frost cracks the pane. You feel it in your teeth. The glass is thin. It is brittle. It is failing. You are the glazier. You have the tools. You have the skill. The shop is cold. The air is sharp. It cuts your lungs. You breathe in. You breathe out. The sound is a rattle. You are old. Your hands are stiff. They do not bend right. You look at the break. It is a web. It is a spider’s trap. It is ugly. It is inevitable.