My necklace broke. When I took off my shirt today. Just a tickle, on my chest. Was it a thread or bug. Or healing scab. That fell.
I slid a finger down my chin. Where it had always been, for now. A lifetime counted by hours of twisting, spacing, fingertips tracing, tiny silver laces. Around, around. Bound and showered, sleeping, running down the street. Invisible sweet comfort. Sweat and soap stained metal chain. My friend, my dear, my years.
Peacefully separated charm from chain. Piece from piece. Broken links, too small to see. How many warped, and bent how long. It didn’t matter before today. They still held on. To one another. Before today. Anyway.
It wasn’t violent, it wasn’t loud. I didn’t even know. When the links let go. Strong between the pressed out spaces. Weak within the forged bond. None could see the silver strained. Comfort stroking, comfort finding. Metal binding.
Metal. Freedom from the chain.
Glittering fetter I didn’t feel, until the shadows fell. Hope had broke her spell. Now, I am somehow heavy. Without. Her broken pieces.
My necklace broke. When I was changing. When it was quiet. When it was all, already breaking. When you left, nothing, on my skin.
Who is left, an unbound neck. I’ve never known her name.