I have to admit something a bit embarrassing. I had seen those tiny glass pieces so many times growing up, and I never once stopped to ask what they actually were. They were just… there in my grandmother’s cupboard, mixed in with plates, cups, and other forgotten objects I assumed didn’t matter anymore. I thought they were just decoration, nothing more.

One day I was cleaning and decided to finally sort everything properly. When I opened the cupboard, a warm, dusty smell came out, like time had been sitting still inside it. I started moving things around slowly, stacking plates and shifting jars, until I noticed a small box tucked behind a row of books. It wasn’t hidden, just overlooked. Something about it made me pause.

I picked it up and opened it carefully. Inside were small glass pieces wrapped in soft paper. Delicate, colorful, and shaped like tiny tubes with a small hook at the top. I had no idea what they were, so I asked someone older. She smiled immediately and said, “Those are pocket vases.”

She explained that people once used them to carry a single flower. Not a bouquet, just one. It would be placed carefully inside, carried throughout the day, and given to someone at the right moment. No spectacle, no speech, just a quiet gesture. Somehow, that simple idea stayed with me.

When I looked at them again, they felt different. Not like objects, but like moments preserved in glass. I started thinking about my grandmother and why she kept them. Maybe they weren’t valuable in a material sense, but in meaning they clearly were. And suddenly, the cupboard didn’t feel like a storage space anymore, but like a quiet archive of small, forgotten intentions.