The Empty Glass

It lies on the floor in front of me. I stop in my tracks and stare at it, trying to come up with ways it could have possibly gotten there. It is slightly green in color and squared in shape. Just lying on the ground, a puddle surrounding it. The white flowers that it used to hold are ripped apart and spread throughout the room. I'm still staring, wondering. My mind is drifting as I steadily walk towards it, bending down slightly to reach it. The pattern is rough in my small hand and I begin to examine it, noticing a small crack and a missing chip from the top of it. My grasp gets tighter, making an imprint in my skin. I try to see through it, but it is translucent and difficult, I try to find something in it, but it is completely empty, no longer holding good or beauty. I drop it back to the soft, white carpet where it came from, the crack gets deeper but it doesn't shatter. It is mocking and teasing. It won't break but it can never be fixed. It is a representation of me.