Yes, she is beautiful, cast in the half light of fiction. But did you have to say so? Your pronouncement is obscene–the melting, the pouring, the casting of it will burn you before it can hold anything worthwhile. Before you know it, you’ll be the man in the background of a Christmas polaroid, a wishing subject stuck in the periphery of a viable option. A vase bursting with daisies will block half of your face, your good side, and it will be all the more disappointing because you won’t be able to remember daisies being on your table at all that day. Truth is, the carefully golden container was scooped up and carried off by hands that may have fit quite nicely into yours had you allowed them to be filled with only things that matter: your longing friend, the yellow flowers from your wedding day, the copper urn you mistook for bronze.


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