more than a dissonant chord,
more than the ding at the end of your ten minute massage at the nail salon,
more than, for heaven sakes, death cab for cutie,
one of the saddest sounds in this world,
is the sound of a mustard jar shattering on the floor of your kitchen.
especially of a new one that has never been used.
more than a puppy,
more than nutella,
and even more than the seed itself,
one of the happiest things in this world,
is finding your roomies
diligently salvaging your mustard,
being careful not to touch the parts that touched the floor,
not to even come close to the broken glass,
and spooning it into a cute little tupperware container.
i love you,
timmy and chaddington bear.