Broken vase

Here I am, sitting, staring at the ceiling, Thinking whether to let it go or not. If I just let it go and forgive, Will it still repeat like a loop? And if I take it seriously, Will I end up turning into stone— Like a broken vase, fixed with hope, Placed inside a solid crystal frame? Seen by some with a gentle gaze, Telling me, “Stop thinking and expecting,” As if I could become A new vase with blooming daffodils. But how can I break again Just because the flower dried? Isn’t it better to remain broken And stay within that same crystal frame, Where stones are not thrown And harsh tones cannot reach?