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It felt cold against my hand
Picking up the pieces of this broken glass
Everything it once held is now spilled
All dried up under the scorching heat.

I tried to mend those broken pieces,
Even cut myself as I did.
But still I tried to mend what was broken,
Hoping it will be back once again.

But hopelessness caught up with me
My hands are now too tired.
I could have held on with my will
But that too is now all gone.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the same sun
Under which the contents of my glass dried up
But I did not condemn it, for it gave me an assuring smile
So I let go of the pieces and I was filled with warmth.

I love the subtle contrast you set up here, between warm and heat, a lot of creative writing is to heavy handed with contrast but yours was barely there and still hit it's mark