Such beautiful pieces, once so cherished. Now stare back at me, little tokens of failures. Sometimes they are always waving, laughing, jesting.
That little place in Greece, the vintage place near our old home, the characters who run it, the walk we took on our last night of that first holiday.
Memories of where these little symbols of love were gifted and collected and treated. A whole fucking box of memories. Elderly loved ones who have passed on and left colourful gems to be remembered by. Even a bracelet my Dad gave my Mum when they were young, they’re not together anymore, yet the metal lives on. A subtle and constant reminder of a love in days gone by.
We can sort the legal bit and go our separate ways, the emotional side will scar for sure. But I’m left with these metal circles and shiny bits, supposedly everlasting with eternal shapes. For they remind me of you, of what we signed up for. Our contract of love was supposed to last so much longer than this. I thought I would wear those rings forever. Our little secret wedding, just for us. ‘Mutual weirdness forever’. That was the contract, that is what we agreed.
But now I am left with this jewellery graveyard. Too loaded to re-home, too precious to part with, yet will never be worn again and are of no value to anyone else. A last blast of defiance; a man will never buy me jewellery again, I will buy my own from now on, then we will never have to do this again.
You will be moved soon, for I can’t look at you each day, it’s a cycle that makes me so sad. For now, that is how it has to be.