As of right now, I am a glass figure on the shelf. If someone were to push me off the edge, I would break into a bazillion pieces. 

I used to be adored at one point. Beautifully polished, those were my glory days. After some rough handling, I had cracked a few times. Eventually, I was broken at one point. It took ages for me to put myself back together again. 

Although I am not as perfect nor as shiny as before, I am trying my best to mend myself to look as similar to my old self as possible. It is tough. 

Recently, there have been some tremors that had shaken my shelf. I am slowly moving closer and closer to the edge. I dread falling down again. What if I fail to put myself together again this time? Worse, what if my broken pieces hurt the people around me?

But alas, I am but a glass figure, transparent and helpless, just waiting for one small nudge to end it all.