I used to own a mug. It was very special because it was adorned with hand painted tiny intricate pink roses with its intertwined leaves. I turn to my special mug whenever I’m started feeling drowsy or jaded.

After filling it up with hot and creamy chocolate drink, I would gaze into my little pink roses to scrutinize its beautiful delicate petals layer and appreciating the craftsman’s skill before sipping the now warmed chocolate. Often than not, I would caress my little pink roses and imagine its delicate texture under my fingers. I never tire from looking at my mug because it is the only lovely object sitting on my table among its chaos occupants. Sometimes, my little pink roses would inspire me to great ideas. I always count on my little pink roses to cheer me up from depressing moments. Miraculously, those little pink roses soothed me better than anyone else and will be there for me for eternity.

Sadly now, my little pink rose’s mug is broken to pieces. Although I have tried in vain to glue every little piece together, it will never look the same. My little pink roses are no longer a picture perfect. It breaks my heart to see its loveliness have turned into imperfection. It could no longer hold my favorite drink, steaming hot chocolate. It was impaired beyond repair it seems. Though it was one of my cherished belongings, I could not bear to see the marred little pink roses. In the end, I have decided to bury its remains in a box at the back of my third drawer forever…

Jack 911
Wednesday, January 24th, 2007

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