What withers the stone at the bottom of the vase.
Elated by the silent descent of rotten pedals sinking into water, I sense it like rain falling on the sea, swept into waves to join the army of currents that strike fists into silt. Currents that don't so much as pull. Currents that push and change tendencies. The stone gets broken at an unnoticed rate. The stone sinks, but only into the surface of the glass.
I'm afraid of the possibility of watching descent and not knowing it. I'm afraid of this glass' eventual break, and any other walls I can't find myself pushing against.