You, the Bracelet
7:49 a.m.

I was cleaning last night, preparing for that day that I will leave the misery of this life for the misery of another, when I found myself stopping, staring at your broken bracelet.

To be honest, when it broke last fall, when the plastic string couldn't take all the yanking my anger and disappointment gave it, I felt strange. I wore it because of you, and when it finally gave up on holding me, I was rather self-satisfied.

Nothing reminded me so much of you as that. Nothing represented my resentment of you as much as that.

So, as I cleaned, as I came across it, I didn't do the logical thing and throw it, you, away.

Perhaps because I don't like throwing things away. But that's moot against the point that I threw everything else you gave me away. The stupid little stickers and trinkets that I've never liked.

While part of me was screaming, saying that I'm acting like an idiot, I took one of the little zip-lock bags for a spare button, got rid of the button, and placed the remains of it, of you, inside.

I placed it in my luggage, with the spare buttons and dress clothes and whatnot.

I am an idiot, for not throwing it away, but maybe, just maybe, I'll see you again and give it back to you in person. Or maybe, however much I had wanted that bracelet to break, I'm still not ready to throw you away.

<< - >>