I saw it in a shop, I barely remember what I was doing there now. It was one of those shops full of useless odds and ends, knick-knacks, good-looking junk. I think I was shopping for an aunt, letting my gaze sweep across the tacky wares in the hope of spotting something inspirational. There it was, in a crowded display cabinet in the back corner of the shop. A glass teardrop.

It wasn't one of those cheap pieces of glass on string, nor a faceted crystal teardrop. It was suspended inside another block of glass somehow, with other shafts and angles intercepting it, but not splitting it or spoiling it. I stared at it for countless minutes trying to work out if it was glass and air, cracked glass, sheets of glass or some other clever technique. The light poured around it, bright and dark, but it still stood alone in the centre of its block.

I must have stared at it for too long, because the little old lady who worked behind the counter appeared at my side and asked if she could help me. I asked the price, I've no idea why now. I knew I would buy it.

When I returned home, I scoured the house for the perfect spot to put it. My desk, the coffee table, the bedside dresser. None of it looked right, it was all too commonplace. That's when I remembered the little corner shelf high up in the dining room, the one that was only noticeable just before sunset when the dying sun shafted into the corner for all of an hour before setting.

I waited until it was sunset for that reason, a foolish and romantic attempt at a sense of occasion. I clambered up onto a wobbly chair and went to wipe the dust off the shelf with my sweater sleeve. There was a picture frame in the way, lying face down in the grubby grey dirt. I put the glass teardrop down on the dusty shelf and picked up the photograph with a sinking sense of certainty. There you were, laughing, covered in snow from a snow fight and bundled up in layers of winter clothes. You hated that picture, that's why it was in the far corner, but I loved it. You were so alive. The sun lit up the glass teardrop unnoticed and passed away below the horizon. A single teardrop fell from my jaw onto the picture. A real teardrop on the glass, flat, fleeting, broken and imperfect, but real.

I nearly took the glass teardrop back to the shop that weekend, but I didn't want to disappoint the old lady. Besides, some of them have an odd glint in their eye that unnerves me. Instead, I wrapped it up and sent it to my aunt for her birthday. I hope she likes it.