Ours was the greatest love story ever told. It was never going to end well, it would have been too much. The universe needs some sort of balance, and two little people can’t going on sapping all the joy from it.
But here I am, in the falling action of the fairy tale. He returned his apartment keys, and the wedding ring. The gold came from my mother’s favorite bracelet. When she died, we made 6 rings from it: one pair for each sibling. My father made me get mine engraved, with our names and wedding date. I was the first sibling to use them, and I will be the first to remelt the gold, and erase this chapter of the story. I don’t know, I don’t know if the rings could ever be worn again. I don’t know what feels right, or what is final. I know this is a story not worth erasing. I would do it all again, I would.
I mean, to be fair, the gold came from bracelets bought for my mother by her first husband. So, maybe they can stay, dates engraved and all. The story of the rings was always intertwined with the fact that great loves still end.
And the heartbreaks which came before this one, they all added up to this. My last relationship before K, was with A. It was bad, toxic, I was young and naïve. It ended on a gray day in January, and my life went up in flames. I left in a hurry, so suddenly that I forgot to bring my jewelry box, with my grandmother’s jewels inside of it. A friend from the town brought them to New York for me, after we had both moved there. And she invited me to a play, Sleep no More. That was where I met K.
So maybe this is just another one of those moments. Another perfect heartbreak, maybe this is building up to something. But, even if it isn’t, even if this was the last great love of my life, and even though it ended, it was worth it.