It’s funny. Your destroyed shrine lays in bits and pieces next to what used to be a garden. The remnants rest on top of the soil like seeds that would create life if they could only penetrate the earth, but now they’re cracked, empty, and dreamless.
It’s funny; watching the shards shake in the wind. They dance to invisible pianos as morning dew settles and there is no one to watch. One day they’ll all be gone.
BLONDE ON BLONDE 