May Writing Challenge

The Gift I Couldn’t Keep

An apology for something I didn’t know I’d miss

A small thing, and somehow not small at all — Photo by Gabriella S on Unsplash

Dear necklace,

I didn’t lose you. I traded you for breathing room. It sounds practical, almost cold, but it was the most honest choice I had at the time.

Now that you’re gone, I realize what I gave up. Not the gold, not the lion-shaped pendant, but the gesture my parents made on my eighteenth birthday. You were the only piece of jewelry I kept separate, as if you were a thin line between who I was and who I needed to become.

I wore you only on days that mattered: graduations, weddings, birthdays. You hung lightly, but you felt heavy — as if you brought me luck, or maybe just reminded me where I came from.

When things got difficult, we sold everything we had. I thought you were “just a necklace.” I thought that for a long time.

Later I understood that it wasn’t you I missed, but what you represented. And by then, you were already gone.

I don’t regret it. Necessity isn’t a sin, and I would make the same choice again. But I do miss you. On birthdays I think of you, and of the hands that once fastened you around my neck.

Maybe you’re bringing someone else luck now. Maybe you were melted down and exist only in my memory.

You know what — I’ll pretend you’re still with me. In my thoughts I hold you for a moment and give you a small kiss. I wear you with pride then, even if it’s only on the inside.

Nico

A true story written for the challenge:

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Manisha❁ | Sumedh Pimplikar

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