Fragile

There are dear reader many things in this world which are fragile. Some deliberately so, because of its design. The very nature of the object in question can only be displayed in its full glory, if it carries with it the essence of its own possible demise. In more than one household, I suspect, dear reader have cries of dismay arose as favourite pieces of pottery, woodwork and such like have smashed asunder by a simple mistake upon its owners part. Yet other things can be just as fragile, for different reasons. Some because they are coming close to the end of their time, and constant use has worn them out. Bringing to breaking point, what once was so secure. The other is opposite in its extreme, and is but newly formed or forming. Like a child in the womb, or a new-found friendship. Where any simple pressure upon these new things, may well bring forth its loss. Yet most insidious of all is something which looks strong, robust, in fact, but in truth, upon closer inspection is fragile to its core. This of course, dear reader, is life to which I refer. For although the body came seemingly endure so much pain and breakage and spoil it can candle like, be snuffed in but an instance. Leaving but the trailing smoke of our memory in the lives that hold us so dear.
So choices which could and should be made, fail to pass, for the owners of said such choices no longer exist to have the power to make them. And that which should have been done, or possibly even undone, is left incomplete or bound to tight. The worst of course, is the final choice of a destination to which you shall be transported. For upon fragility being demonstrated within your life, this choice has been made, whether you considered it or not.
So my question, dear reader, is this, "do I even realise I am fragile?"