A Jewelry lover,
That was how I was raised.
My mother’s huge jewelry box,
Was mine to play into cover.
I was just a little girl, didn’t know its value
Just that it all was mine.
As older I got, her box a little smaller,
Into my own box growing bigger.
I added modern ones to our collection,
Until a time that they were too many.
Still I kept the habit to play with them at home,
And flirt with them at the stores.
Buying them I stopped,
Just because it was enough.
There I was in Chicago, starring at new ones,
Behind the glasses of the famous jewelry store.
Interrupting my connection with my pears,
A masculine voice: “Whatever you want, just say and it’s yours.”
I was offended by what other girls would be flattered,
For I had to pretend that I did not desire them.
I felt offended because I liked him,
And for that moment, he made me feel like my pearls.
Conflicted I was, I loved my pears not as a thing,
But as a part of me, my childhood, my golden dreams.
Whoever wants to give, doesn’t offer I learned,
Whoever truly wants to receive, doesn’t accept an offer.
All those thoughts, turning that rich man into a poor man,
So poor that I was already feeling for him…How I could possibly explain…
I turned back to my pears, my eyes into his: ” No, but Thank you,
I’ll rather tell the story, than have you buy me the store, but yes, thank you…”
Still now I feel and wonder, what if…
what if he had no means to buy and say what he did,
What if instead, he had just told me from his heart, how much he enjoyed being with me,
How much he cared, and maybe even, how beautiful he could see me with and without the pearls.
Maybe, then, he would not have become just the past,
just a memory, just a story… Locked inside my jewelry box.
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