Empty Vessels

The Coffee Mug and The Wine Glass stood next to each other, just on the edge of the counter top. The Coffee Mug had been smitten with The Wine Glass for some time, admiring her slender stem, the curve of her bowl. The lipstick stain on her rim. For her part, the Wine Glass admired the artisan pottery of the Coffee Mug, his vibrant colors and whimsical form. As the two found themselves there, staring down the height of the counter, a conversation began. They talked of many things. The Wine Glass admitted to sometimes wishing she were a teacup, and The Coffee Mug confessed he wasn't really the morning person he pretended to be. They confessed, they shared dreams. The Wine Glass dazzled The Coffee Mug with her beauty and grace, The Coffee Mug was charming and thoughtful.
     There, on the edge of that counter, as if by unspoken agreement, neither mentioned that they were both empty. An empty wine glass is such a fragile thing, she thought, knowing he'd noticed, but hoping he'd not care. What could I be to her? He asked himself, I'm just a cup. She's practically an accessory. neither knew, sadly, what they were to those around them. Neither of them knew how deeply they were occasionally needed. Neither could see how differently people acted when they were around. If they did, perhaps some of their awkwardness might be avoided.
    The two empty vessels stood there, on the edge of the counter, dancing with words. She of the long, glamorous night, he of the purposeful morning. The things they held in common were invisible to them. It's possible, that given enough time, their mutual admiration would be enough to see them through until they could discover that they were, in fact, kindred.