This is a poem I wrote about a couple months ago. It's suppose to tell how easily people can replace things, kinda like when a vase breaks. You just buy a new one.
A vase. Thin, colorless, an object that has no meaning.
But this object holds things that we care about, does it not?
But when the vase shatters, does it break our hearts?
To see the thing we love the most, destroyed?
But in reality, we don’t care.
We can just replace it.
Everyone has an extra vase in their closet.
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