About the only thing that works is my memory of who I used to be not long ago. I was never exactly fine crystal but rather a canteen. May not have been as pretty but I held a fair amount and didn’t leak. Probably looked a little out of place in certain locations but always thought I fit in where I thought I should be. On a fireplace mantle somewhere ready to go out in the woods.

Maybe I leaked, maybe what was in me simply evaporated over time. I may never know, but I know there’s very little left in me right now. Just a nearly empty old container in search of a plug and a refill laying on the side of some country dirt road.

When will the last drop be gone? Most likely the last tear I guess.