red streaks on white china

Him: Hey, that looks nice
Me: What?
Him: Don't act dumb, you know what
Me: You mean this?
Him: Of course. What else is there as beautiful as that in your life?
Me: Yeah, that's true
Him: I know you love it
Me: Of course I do
Him: Why the long face then?
Me: Oh, it's nothing
Him: I have noticed, you know...
Me: What?
Him: What you mumble in your sleep...
Me: Which is...
Him: red streaks on white china
Me: My eye is drawn to them, resistance seems futile
him: Why would you want to resist?
Me: Well, it is not pleasant
Him: Why?
Me: Because it reminds me of when it was broken
Him: Just that? surely that was a long time ago
Me: It reminds me of how I struggled to put it back together... so beautiful, yet so delicate
Him: Is that all?
Me: Ok, I admit, it reminds me of the pain
Him: What pain?
Me: The pain when I cut my fingers, again and again on the broken slivers, groping desperately to save every piece, frantically trying to pick every last shattered fragment, dipping my fingers into the pile of rubble hoping to put it all together again
Him: And...
Me: Well, can you see the cracks?
Him: Hmm, I must say, you did a good job
Me: Does it look broken?
Him: Not to me...
Me: What does that mean?
Him: Well, I have my answer
Me: Answer to what?
Him: What you mumble in your sleep
Me: I hate him, you know
Him: I know
Me: I hate him for the streaks more than the cracks
Him: I know that too, you have always been selfish