text: Today sucks. There are paintings on my walls but they cannot capture my imagination. Sounds come from the radio, but they’re full of static. Behind it I think I can hear a melody, but not a song. I can’t stand being in my house, but I don’t know if I'm brave enough to leave it. The world outside is much too frightening to face alone. After a few hours of staring at the clock, my attention is drawn to a vase; it’s an empty vase. The vase makes me feel better momentarily. Unlike the paintings on my wall, it could be something new, something real. Thinking about what I could put in it offers me an escape from my pervasive melancholy. When night time comes, thoughts of my vase help me drift into my typical fitful slumber a little earlier; And even at night I dream of my vase. When I wake, I look out the window, where I spot something most peculiar. It’s a flower. From this distance, I can’t tell what kind it is, but in the still dim dawn, I can see that it’s glowing. I immediately pull on a shirt and don a mask, as I step out the door to greet the flower. When I walk up to it, I swear I hear it giggle. The flower’s petals are astonishing, unlike any I had seen before. They were purple and blue, and they seemed to change shape and colour at will, sending the shifting rays of light in all directions. All of this creating a scene that would take even a photograph a thousand years to replicate. Almost instantly, I know that I want that flower to fill the spot in my vase; and the flower seems to think that as well, extending a leaf on its stem towards me. I stretch out my hand to pick it, but then I recoil. I'm realising now that the flower has thorns. This gives me pause. Perhaps I should think about the flower a little more, I warn myself. I walk back inside, and finish my day optimistic about the morning’s events. The next day, I am ready to commit to the flower, I take my time getting outside, sure that it will be waiting for me. But when I meander to the place where the flower was, It’s gone. My mind races to explain. Maybe it was taken by someone else, maybe it died, or maybe it just got tired of waiting. No matter the reason, it is absent. “Whatever”, I tell myself, “fuck that flower”. But deep down I know I don’t mean that. ... It’s been a whole month since I found the flower, I've looked at other flowers, some of which, quite beautiful. However, they don’t have the character of the one I met before. What was I thinking? “All roses have thorns, but that flower was willing to overlook mine.”, I think the realisation of my mistake now clearer than ever before. I look around my dark and depressing and awful house, and I get fucking livid. I take my vase, and I smash it on the floor. It shatters into tiny pieces, all glistening and shining across my living room. Remarkably, the bottom remains intact. In it’s undamaged surface, I see my reflection. I drop my burning rage, for I realise now that I’m not mad at the vase, or the flower, or any other stupid thing. I’m mad at myself. As tears well up in the corners of my eye, I fall on my side. I don’t care about the glass cutting me, I just wish I could go back in time.