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The only thing I can compare her to,
is a broken vase.
A beautiful boutique of endless different flowers it seems.
All so individually complex and vibrant.
So life-like and inviting.
Sunflowers and pink roses, red tulips and lilac gardenias,
Spilled all over the floor.
The drenched dark hard wood floors,
decorated with shards of the opal glass vase.
Yet still such a beautiful sight.
She was so magnificent in her mess of brokenness,
still a beauty to admire.
A broken vase of decadent flowers in a unconventional way, is a renaissance to behold.
Still smelled so pleasant and nostalgic of love and hope.
The diffracted glass still reflecting all the afternoon light from the near by window in the foyer
Each flower still in tact aside from a loose petal here and there swimming in the nurtured water
Each one still as beautiful as the day they were picked.
No matter how much time has passed she still remained in that same image.
That broken pile of beauty
Perhaps the glass would crack a bit more whenever a new shoe would step upon it,
but her splendor never changed.
She was still as gloriously angelic as the day she fell of that table and broke into a thousand pieces,
but managed to hold her grace about her.
I need not hope to always remember her this way,
for it is this way that she will stay.