She's a rare vase, out of a cat's reach, on its shelf.
The thing that is believed is a reality.
Any serious attempt to try to do something worthwhile is ritualistic.
Damn wind shift sudden as a woman mind.
Love After Love all your life, whom you have ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.