I have an empty vase.

It stands on the table, all airy, refined... and lonely.
Like me, only without a nervous system and the desire to eat something sweet at night.
Sometimes I look at it and think: how is that possible? Such a shape, such a texture, such potential - and not a single flower! Not even a rose - at least someone could have brought a dandelion from the nearest park, really.
An empty vase is like an invitation.
Like "Hi, I'm ready for new feelings, fresh tulips and emotional swings."
And it stands. Gathering dust. Waiting.
Sometimes I go up to it, smile and say: "We'll be patient, my dear. Our pheasant will still bring a bouquet."
Maybe the vase is too demanding.
Maybe she doesn't just need flowers, but something with soul - something that is not bought in passing, but chosen with trepidation, carried across the entire city, held behind the back, worrying whether she will like it.
(Okay, maybe I need this, and not a vase, but what difference does it make...)
Sometimes I want to put something in it - at least a tea bag to set the mood. AHAHAHA