Matters of the heart

Today I wore a tear-shaped gold locket that used to belong to my grandmother. While sitting in the library this morning I found myself idly flipping open the small metal door, daydreaming about whose miniature portrait I might one day put inside. (Pablo and Bob Saget both seemed like lovely choices.) I looked down inside the space meant for my beloved and found, to my disgust, a small colony of fungus growing inside the lower lip of the locket. How gross is that?

If I were feeling melodramatic, I might say this was a sign that if I don't proclaim my love for someone soon, my heart could also grow mossy with disuse. But I don't really feel that way. Instead I will tell you the truth: I sort of examined the tubular growths inside and then I thoroughly cleaned the whole necklace. Best to be practical about these matters.