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  • Writer's picturecoreythecollins

The Necklace

The lady across the seat from me on the train was wearing what i thought was the exact the same Egyptian necklace my mom used to and so i asked "is your name Candace?"

“It is?!?!” She answered with a look that was out of place,“have we met?” and the conversation carried on for only another minute.

i didn’t notice at first but then the light hit it just right and as the

Sunlight takes a glance off a chain, a flicker of gold, the hieroglyphs spell your name, a story that was already told. The scent of patchouli that smells like warmth, a touch so light that it jarred memories loose that were buried deep and out of sight.

The buried past and a deep tremor in my soul, will i carry this until i'm old? A necklace gleams and it should be called a mocking key, to the woman whom she could’ve been.

Lullabies forgotten and The Sound of Music is now the sound of silence that Julie Andrews can’t help go down. Even with a spoonful of sugar.

Echoes of laughter, a gentle hand on my shoulder but no scratch on my back. A puzzle with missing pieces, a picture incomplete, but with this golden key, a sense of something ever sweet.

The necklace gleams like a portal to the past unfurled, revealing glimpses of a woman, of a mother, of a previous world.

Were you always this beautiful, this strong, this mighty? The once forgotten returns and washes over me like I’m bathing in warm sunlight.

Each hieroglyph is just a whisper of the woman you were, the weight of the necklace on a strangers neck in an even stranger place and a connection to you, to a love i feared time had erased.

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