I am the vase that sits on your windowsill.
Empty and forgotten, I wait. I wait for you to come fill me, to pour yourself into me, to top off my nothingness with whatever you please. I spend lonely days and lonelier nights wishing you would decorate me. Embellish me with a posy of wildflowers arranged in perfect disarray. Fill me to the brim with voluptuous blood-red roses whose prickly tails poke and prod my sides. Give me daisies or tulips or lilies. Garnish me with any flower, just decorate me. Fill me. Complete me.