A vase

Before I left, a vase broke.

Before that — a suitcase, hastily packed.
Everyone thought it was about things,
but I knew —
it was about me not being myself.

When I came back from Florida,
not a single object found its place again.
Half the flowers had withered.
A new world had grown inside the bowl,
while in my soul — everything froze.

An entire universe
had fallen into hibernation.
It’s painfully cold here,
and unbearably empty.

You know…
I keep thinking about that vase —
about the fragments
it shattered into.

It feels like
that was me.