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She was pretending to be crystal, being glass.
Then she walked without moving so as not to disturb the crochet sideboard.
The cup holders are heard quietly in a massive uproar of craziness.
Of course, the glasses insisted on clinking, jingling away,
and making a few notes, almost music, but no one noticed anything. Notes, notes, transparent notes.
They do not give much chance for closet parties on the crockery counter.
She was complete, to tears of bright water from a crystal clear sun that crossed the window and hit her.
"No one serves of me! Nowadays, it is like that; we keep getting sparks.
They do not even drink me from mugs; not me, the water."
"Water does not work for me. I want water! It will be?"
But nothing is missing, just the usual ones that do not stop for a second to refresh themselves.
"Who wants that, after all?"
Of course, she was talking to herself as always, full of soft, flexible, and transparent thoughts. Wet soul.
Finally, the owners - who were not theirs - came and drank it and almost broke her.
Finally, the jar calmed down, now empty. The cat said nothing, just a meow of thirst.
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