A Green Necklace

I remember this necklace I had back home. It was green, large, and rimmed in copper. I used to wear it with this green dress I got from P’s store.

At an H&I last night, one of the techs giving the course had a similar necklace on.

This year I became a ghost.

I told none of my friends that I was leaving and scrubbed myself away from social media.

I joke that I wrote about mermaids so much I decided to move to the ocean in hopes I might transform into one, my troubles were so tumultuous.

I’ve begun a torrid love affair with English muffins, slathered with soft, Irish butter and whipped cream cheese with chives mixed in. Every once in a while, I’ll remember my life this time last year, the slow-moving, inevitable train wreck of it all. How I was headed nowhere fast except for aided with bottles of Pinot Noir to ease the cacophony in my heart.

All that screaming misfortune.

I used to keep that necklace on my dresser, beside my bed, in that old apartment where I used to live. The bed I used only temporarily, only when the wine and whisky made me blackout and I needed a comfortable place to rest my head. I remember, I kept telling all my friends I was going to one day buy a couch, only that never happened, and one day, I was on a plane to Florida, to the Southeast coast, where the Atlantic Ocean kisses the perimeter.

Before I go to bed at night, that thought will haunt me once more. I’ll look around me and murmur to myself, “this is my life now,” and how strange it all is. Miles from home.