You are my broken vase.

The one that once contained our friendship.
The shattered glass jar,
That held us together.

The day you slipped that letter
into my unsuspecting hand;
the day I slid your thrice-folded letter
out into the open.
And realized
that you did not want our friendship to last.

And I never spoke to you again.
Ever.
Again.

In the way that things are now,
I can't help but feel
my heart jump into my mouth,
as reality presses into my ear
and I listen to the droning monotone buzz.

I pick up the pieces of the broken vase,
and can't help but stare at the ashes
that you created when you burned down
all that meant to me.

And I clean up the vase pieces
and flick away the debris.
And I smudge out the blackened scar
you left on my past.

You are my broken vase.