the broken glass

it was just a vase.

the flower will fade just like the memories will fade.
one day, it will look wilted, ugly and old.
it will stink.
i will say, look, no wonder the glass broke, this flower was a stinking mess.
in the end, it was just a vase.

the water, in the meantime, trickled down the floor, found a crack, sneaked into the ground, filtered by earth, fed by gnomes and fairies that I believe do not exist. maybe.
the water was in the vase, nourished the plant - but I forgot all about it.

the water was love and it still is somewhere, pure, as it was.
pure, as it is. unconcerned about

flowers
vases
and all that