Free. No longer constrained for use by its creators. No longer beautiful. No longer coherent. Shattered like death. Reincarnated as cuts of light. Was it ugly to begin with? Useful, it had held spaghetti with dripping Bolognesa sauce. It felt a child’s finger pushing broccoli along its ridges. It felt the frantic scrapes as a teenager wolfed a meal before thoughtlessly tossing it in the sink. It was an object, never given thought but the occasional sigh at having to rub it clean. How it had loved the feeling of warm water running down its smooth front and ridges. What part of its broken brilliance remembered these things? It watched from afar as its pieces were swept and thoughtlessly discarded. The meaning it never had didn’t matter anymore.