The brass locket, which contained only an empty frame, was the first
in a series of ominous love tokens that appeared beneath her window.
When he fastened the clasp on her necklace, every nightingale
seemed to sing. Their swollen throats and colorless eyes.
He reminded her of Petrarch, driven by the necessity of pursuit. The beloved
as interchangeable, a vessel. A bird heaving under the weight of an otherworldly song.
The homage felt contrived, mechanical. And still the luminous buttons on her shirt.
It was then she wished the pursuit would continue indefinitely.
She presented him with a miniature bird, which bore the most unusual
inscription. Her wrist still heavy with silver charms and locks of his knotted hair.
She remembered his eyes growing dim. Her fingers tracing the brass locket’s empty frame.
– Kristina Marie Darling
am i the object of his affection or the reason for it?