Vase
We built together, shaping unused clay to form a coil pot.
It hardened and became a flower pot within time.
Fragile but able to hold the most delicate objects of beauty.
The flowers we put began to wilt.
It withered away.
I no longer watered the roses in the pot.
You had stopped watering the roses.
So they died.
The vase slowly began to crack.
Breaking away the hardened clay we painted with color.
Left outside, the weather got to it.
Crumbling away the very shape that gave it's name.
We left it there to turn to dust.
I couldn't make another one.
I didn't know how.
You taught me everything.
The only thing I knew to do was to provide the flowers.
And to water them.
But what's a bouquet without the vase.
And a vase without it's flowers.
