She sits on my windowsill, reminding me of the miracles of the world;
of the light shining through each crack,
and of the hope residing in each and every soul.
And she speaks of the pain of those less fortunate, asking me not to ignore; not to close my eyes to the lives of those who have lost their way.
Or chosen a different route.
Created from broken glass by a broken woman; a woman whose soul has been trampled upon, beaten, choked and finally paralyzed by substances promising an existence of blessed numbness; she tells me a story of a life.
Who was that woman?