Kintsugi: The Art of Loving, Living, and Mending Through Time #poetry

THEN

There was a time before the breaking,
before the crack lines, before the gold.
We were unshattered porcelain, smooth,
glazed with the illusion of eternity.
We whispered forever as if we knew
what forever meant.

Then came the storms—
winds howling through hollow promises,
rain drumming on the edges of our silence.
We mistook lightning for fireworks,
thunder for music,
and when the earth beneath us trembled,
we blamed each other for shaking.

Our hands, once soft with the touch of ease,
grew rough with the weight of unspoken things.
Every step forward had the sound
of glass crunching beneath hesitant feet.
We became a mosaic of misunderstandings,
a fresco of faded colors,
a temple abandoned mid-construction.

And then—
we broke.

Shards in the dust.
Edges too sharp to gather without bleeding.
Silence thick, like the air before a monsoon.
You, a fragment of before.
Me, a fragment of after.
We, an echo of what was.

KINTSUGI (YOU, ME, OUR RELATIONSHIP)

Who first reached for the shattered pieces?
Whose fingers trembled, hesitant,
hovering over the wreckage
before daring to touch?

There is an art to mending what is broken—
not by hiding the scars,
not by pretending we were never cracked,
but by pouring molten gold into every fracture.

You held a fragment of me in your palm,
turned it, studied it,
not to fix, not to erase,
but to understand.
I held a fragment of you against the light,
tracing the edges where time had worn you thin,
where love had burned too bright and left embers.

The art of Kintsugi does not seek
to return a thing to what it was.
It transforms.
It takes the broken and says:
Now, you are more beautiful than before.

The scars are not blemishes.
The cracks are not flaws.
They are the story of survival,
the proof of resilience,
the veins of gold that pulse with
all that we have been through—
together, apart, together again.

LOVE, LIFE

Love is not the first bloom in spring,
nor the easy laughter of a summer’s evening.
It is the autumn wind
tearing the leaves from the trees,
the winter night spent in quiet, waiting.

Love is not untouched,
not pristine, not pure.
It is dirt under fingernails,
salt from tears,
the weight of history in a single glance.

To love is to walk through ruins
and imagine a cathedral.
To love is to see the cracks
and choose to gild them with gold,
not erase them, not ignore them,
but honor them—
for they are the story of us.

Life is the same.
A journey of breaking and mending,
of falling apart and being remade.
We are all porcelain,
fragile, delicate, breakable—
and yet, in the breaking,
we become something more.

NOW, JOURNEY

Now, we stand in the light,
not as we were,
but as we are.
Not untouched, but whole.
Not unscarred, but radiant.

Every fracture tells a story.
Every golden seam whispers,
We endured. We healed. We continued.

The journey is not over.
Perhaps it never will be.
We are still stepping forward,
still gathering the pieces,
still learning the delicate art
of loving each other,
of loving ourselves,
of finding beauty
in the breaking and the mending,
in the old and the new,
in the then and the now.

Kintsugi.
A love story.
A life story.
A journey unfinished,
but forever shining.

#Kintsugi #LoveAndHealing #BrokenButBeautiful #Resilience #LifeJourney #Transformation #Poetry #HealingThroughArt #GoldenScars #MendWithGold