Reminders of Love

They relished finding meaning in old things as the remains of ancient art lay scattered throughout their world. It was a ritual of sorts. A tradition. Whenever a new old object was uncovered, they would gather at night to tell stories about it. Around their camp fire, in the middle of their village, they sat relatively protected from the elements.

Centuries had passed since the computer virus to end all computers took them back to the early 20th century. Few had dared to try and bring them back. It had been an earthquake to the core of who we were. To who we became. Some technologies, although simple, were tolerated. And so, with radios they shared; in part because so much of pre-computer industrialization was lost over the millennia that they had relied on computers, in part because their way of life had evolved as it devolved. Long gone were the smokestacks and vehicles of the actual 20th century, as well as the flying vehicles and weather factories of the 30th century. We had regressed to an equestrian society.

Tonight, tokens of love are the subject of discussion. The warm crackle of a tenor voice rises up over the static and we hear,

"Butts. We all have them. Tonight we have a trinket of some peculiarity for you. Found by a young Seeker from Treadway hidden under a few handfuls of dirt. He describes it to us now." the host whispers something inaudible and then a squeaky boy's voice is heard.

"Thanks. It's a butt with a picture in it. I mean, you open it up and there's a picture of a pretty lady. And there's hair too. Hair in the butt." the child begins laughing and repeating "butt hair".

The host cuts back in, "Thank you for that. Now we go to our expert in ancient symbology."

An older woman's voice eases her way into an explanation, "Well, it appears to be a locket. Shaped like what used to symbolize the heart. The heart was once known as a symbol of love. Here we have a small piece of heart shaped jewelry made of silver metal hinged like a clam shell. Opening it reveals the picture and lock of hair. The picture and lock of hair place inside represent the source of the owner's love. It served as a reminder of their love."

"If you ask me, love shouldn't need to be reminded of. It's just there or it isn't," the host chimed in.

"It can also be seen as metaphorically carrying your love with you wherever you go and I think that's nice."

"Let's get our philosopher to weigh in on this. Please welcome back, the esteemed Professor of Morality."

The old professor flexed her voice before starting, "Ahem, um. Yes, um, thank you for having me. Um, it seems that the root of the tall grass here, as it were, lies in the thicket of obligation, so to speak. Simply put, what do we owe to our loved ones for being loved? If we can answer that, then we will have an idea of the strength of the locket's usefulness in ernst." she paused before diving into the heart of her argument.

"You mentioned 'reminders' specifically. So we can instantiate the broader question here to ask-- are we obligated to think of our loved ones more often than we would naturally? That we can artificially augment our care for another with little cost in effort, as such, enables a higher quality of interconnectedness. Furthermore, in so doing we express to those around us, not just ourselves, the commitment and resolution of that love. The reminder then is internal and external. Such a symbolic functor espouses sentiment which could incline one towards reciprocation in the external." She cleared her throat and continued with emphasis.

"Love is obliged to reciprocate love externally, for it to be shared and maintained. Such practices are still alive and well today in the form of gifts. So, in summary, it's not that love 'should' be reminded of but that it 'needs' to be reminded of to be sustained."

"Interesting," The host took opportunity of the pause. "So what you're saying is that this locket fulfilled a necessary aspect of humanity.”

“Indeed. In conclusion, we might assert that. Or going even further, that that 'necessary aspect' is not altogether ageless, although it may be immortal. The function of its change is that of a growing and evolving species. By investigating these matters more thoroughly, we can see above the tall grass and out to the horizons. For example, how might we shape a better locket?”

“Excellent! Well, how about it? Can you design a more loving token? The heart-shaped locket. Encasing a picture and lock of hair. Buried for who knows how long-”

The expert interrupts, “It would appear to date back most likely before computers, to the era of 'black and white' photography. Some fifteen hundred years.”

* click *

The radio shut off and the leader of the village turned to the audience and announced, “There will be a competition! Make tokens of love. The best token holder will represent Bastion as our contribution to the radio organizers this month. Remember they need good content to entertain every village within a days travel. Any object! 'How might we shape a better locket?'”

The crowd of a few hundred murmured. They each had at least one person whom they loved, so ideas were plentiful. It was as if a child had just learned to play a new sport. The concepts were clumsy at first, the goods ones saw more play, while the bad ones were encouraged nonetheless, and everyone was enthusiastic about the possibilities. Shoes and other clothing were the first one that gave them pause for thought. It was something they wore everywhere so the reminder would be continuous. The biggest problem seemed to be how to imprint ones loved one onto their clothing.

“What if we made their clothing with love? Is that enough?”

“For the ones that wear them. But what about everybody else?”

Just then, a clamoring was heard at the back of the crowd. A few arguments had erupted over the nature of love, whose love was unrequited, and how not everyone had crafting talents.

Years later, with love defined by trinkets, the village grew apart. Those without love grew resentful of those who had. Some even began wearing anti-love trinkets. From the seed of that one village grew an evil of dissatisfaction and distrust. What was once a prosperous and happy group became lethargic and bitter. And the swear word of choice? Butts.