How Little it Matters

This afternoon I ran some errands around town. Throughout the course of my errand-running, I decided to sift throught he ashes of a long-since-burnt out relationship, and see how I could better dismember and bury it.

(As it stood, the scent of it's decay would every so often pop onto my radar, and the thoughts that sometimes followed were less then pleasant.)

So, as I decided, I regarded a particular piece of ornament I received from the memory in question. I had loved it near as much as the giver, and the new thought, as the scent drifted into my nose, wasn't of sadness. Or well, it was a different kind of sadness. It was time to get it out of my living space for good.

So five minutes of sifting through the yellow pagtes procured me a suitable pawn-shop of a sort. Main street, hole in the wall, full of older men who like to flatter their patrons on a regular basis. I took it in, and they measured the weight of the gold and the diamonds, and gave me a price.

I accepted it, and went on my way, off to do the rest of my errands without pause.

But somewhere along the way I feel like I opened my eyes. I blinked, and everything was in full bright color, the details popping out like the very first time I wore my glasses when I was a kid - There was a hollow echo in my heart as I heard it beating behind my skin and muscle, and I thought about what I had just done.

I thought about everything leading to the gifting, the things past that point, the events strung together that were pulled and strained and broken and scattered over the past however long it's been. And I looked into my clenched hand, at the bills still there staring back at me.

I guess all my love was worth in the end was $5.00.

~Oru