Moonglow and Fire
Updated: Feb 3
The first boy I ever loved gave me a chip of a diamond and a choker of moonglow. More than a decade has dutifully passed, days marching into months, slowly stretching into years. The diamond chip sits in a gentle curlique of silver. The moonglow is beaded on strong, black cord, the center marked with a few links of chain. The first boy I ever loved did not know that this time would pass with us parted, so much so that we’d eventually be strangers once more. He did not know that I would not remain in love with him; would discover that I am not a very big fan of diamonds; would become a lunar witch. His gifts were not prophetic. He did not mark me as his. He only marked me as loved, once upon a time. The first boy I ever loved does not know I keep these talismans in a small, square, yellowed glass box on an overcrowded bookshelf teeming with nostalgic indulgences.
The first man I ever loved gave me endless pieces of jewelry - corded pendants, braided bracelets, thick rings to match his own. Nearly a decade has careened past, the years surprising in their velocity. The sheer multitude of accessories denote the heavy weight of his intention to keep me at all costs. The first man I ever loved was also unaware that so much time would pass with us apart, that eventually I would shed the memories of him like a skin that was ill-fitting. He did not know that I would not remain in love with him; would discover that I deserved more than heaped abuse; would become strong enough to leave him. His gifts were not prophetic. He tried to mark me as his, tethering my wrists and fingers. He only marked me as afraid, temporarily caught in his shadow. The first man I ever loved does not know I burned and buried these strings he tried to snare me with, nor that I grieved when I finally ran out of things to destroy.
The man I married does not know every inch of my heart. He did not require me to expose the sharp-edged shadows that occasionally lurk there. He simply gave me his own heart, and eventually, a ring. We have seen more than half a decade amble past us. The man I married told me on our wedding day that he could not promise to never be parted. He committed to be my partner instead. He has never marked me. He has simply loved me as I am, in my ever-evolving state of being. The man I married holds my moonglow and my fire in his eyes when he looks at me. The opal on my ring reflects that fire and moonlight. It is in his love that I am learning how to honor what I keep and what I burn. Time wanders past me, changing form as I change lenses. All I know is this strange meandering path of moments is mine. Very seldom await the love that I call Trouble. xo, Cate