The Omittance of Love

“The Omittance of Love”

When I was new and beautiful, I sat perched high upon a wooden peg, elegantly displayed alongside several of my counterparts. The room that kept us was stylish, the light-blue wallpaper patterned with petite silver flowers made everything within it feel chic. The clerk who watched over us was considerate, promptly liberating us from any minute particle that dared settle down upon us. My golden chain was delicate, but my clasp was firm and kept me safely secured. My heart-shaped hollow was finely polished and when the window light reached me, I would boast a spectacular glimmer. I caught the eye of many young gentlemen there, men who came seeking the perfect token of their affection.

The men would stare at me intently, furrowing a brow or twisting the corner of a black, greasy, mustache. Sometimes I would be removed from my perch and compared side-by-side with some other trinket. Perhaps my chain was too fragile to symbolize those men’s enduring love, or maybe my color did not quite complement their lover's endearing eyes. Whatever the reason, I continued waiting patiently, for surely someone would come along and deem me the finest memento.

One spring day, the door opened, and a cool breeze gently rocked me back and forth on my peg. I saw him then. A boy, just barely a man, walked timidly through the array of beautiful items. The man moved his silk top hat nervously about in his hands, his eyes darting from one object to the next with uncertainty. Just as my sway was coming to a halt, the light caught me, and from the corner of the man’s eyes, he noticed my golden glimmer. The gentleman walked directly to me, studied me for a moment before releasing a sigh of relief and removing me from my peg.

At the counter, the man asked the clerk to lend him a pair of scissors. The clerk obliged and the man, hands shaking, snipped a black and white photo into the shape of a small heart and offered it to my hollow locket. The man was all smiles as I was then carefully wrapped into a delicate white paper, placed within a tiny box, and neatly tied away with string. The next smile I saw was a woman’s, beaming from ear to ear as she gingerly removed my paper cloak. Tears streamed down her face as the man placed me upon her slender neck and the two looked at one another longingly. It was a look I had always wished to see, the gaze of two people who are truly and deeply in love.

I stayed with the couple for an exceptionally long time. I caressed the woman's neck when the two exchanged wedding vows and even when they brought a child into the world. I watched them care for one another, in sickness and in health, through good times and bad. When the man was away the woman would pry into my hollow and smile at the safeguarded treasure within. Even after many years, viewing that old photograph could turn her cheeks red and make her heart flutter. There was no obstacle the two did not overcome and every day that passed only served to fortify their bond. Witnessing these lovers grow old together was everything I could have hoped for, and I would have gladly braved eternity with them, buried six feet underground.

But that fate was not to be.

Instead, I was stored away somewhere forgotten, diligently protecting the once cherished keepsake within my golden heart.

At last, I returned to the light, but the people and the places looked so different. The buildings had multiplied, and everything seemed to move faster than before. A stuffy-looking middle-aged man in a drab business suit removed me from my forgotten hideaway and lifted me high before a crowd of people. I suppose no one there had use of me since, after a brief display, I was tucked away into the stuffy man’s coat pocket. Next, I knew he had infiltrated my precious hollow, discarded the image of unknown lovers’, and handed me off to be etched upon. When I returned to the stuffy man, the words ‘Forever Yours’ had been carved inside of me.

For a moment I had hope. Maybe I would be blessed enough to be a part of another great love story. But when the man presented me to his wife, she admonished him. Fiery words were hurled, objects were thrown about, and tears of despair rained from her cheeks. I was not sure what I had done to offend her but the man, flushed with anger, shoved me back into his pocket.

The next day, the man presented me to a different woman. She looked much younger than his wife and the room appeared to be a temporary home at best. This woman gasped when she saw me, raising her supple fingers to her full red lips. But I was quickly tossed aside as the two threw themselves into a lustful embrace. The woman took me home with her, but I was only worn when she visited the man in rooms that were always similar but never the same. Most of my time with her was spent perched upon another wall and as time went by, I noticed how her belly grew. When her belly was full, I heard the man's voice through some device in the woman's hand. The man screamed and the woman sobbed hysterically. After his voice went silent the woman came to me in a frenzy, her eyes still red and clouded with tears. In an instant, she grabbed me from my perch and hurled me from her window onto the cold hard ground below.

It was not long before a new man recovered me from the ground. He used his tattered sleeve to remove the mud that was hiding my golden body, then placed me inside his cart full of personal effects. I suppose that man had no use for me because he quickly placed me into the hands of another man and exchanged me for ornate green paper. The place I found myself in was bleak and depressing. A collection of secondhand items, well past their prime, resided within four white walls, and none of the clerks could be bothered to remove the accumulated filth.

What hell my existence has become.

My chain is brittle now and my clasp is loose. My polish is dull, and the years of neglect reveal themselves as scuffs and scratches. No one will find a use for me in this condition, for what kind of love could I exemplify in a state like this?

Sometimes, I see young ones shuffling through the trinkets, but it is far from how it used to be. Tokens of affection have been reduced to an afterthought, if thought of at all. The bright eyes of anxious lovers, eager to bear their heart to another, are instead teeming with shame and embarrassment. Occasionally couples come in together to humor us antiques, but they often feel miles apart from each other. No loving looks, words, or embraces are shared, but rather one or both will stare far off, indifferently.

I know that I alone am not enough to sustain a relationship, but in this modern era of love, people seem completely uninterested in demonstrating their passion whatsoever. As if they cannot trust the person who has their heart not to break it. I can only provide a special moment for people to share, but aren’t special moments what bring people together in the first place? What has become of love? And why must I still exist to witness its demise? I pray for my end. To be melted down into nothingness and made anew.

I pray to forget true love and its dismal end.