keep guessing, if you're not bored with the narrative
I’ve heard them say that I’m pretty. Houseguests will walk by, and my shiny gold base catches their eye. Even though I’ve been picked up many times, I’m still a shiny bright gold. Sometimes people praise the intricate carvings in the gold metal. Others like the mosaic top. If I remember-- it’s been so long since I’ve been placed in front of a mirror-- the mosaic is a medley of flowers and leaves on a white background. The flowers come in many sizes, my overall size limiting them. They can’t grow like the flowers I’ve seen outside the window that bloom when spring comes. There is a metal faux braid enclosing them, like a lasso around a cattle’s neck. Of course, I can’t feel the pull of the rope like a cattle could. The tension never changes, I am always the same.