Everything about a glass jar makes it ideal. The shape and the transparency - perfect for holding. I have started collecting things in one such glass jar. These things I collect, are artifacts of you.
They are not things you left behind. No odd socks, lost buttons or used train tickets. Just things of you by me. Fragments somehow connected to memories in my mind through strands of tangled association even I cannot unwind.
When the jar is full I will screw the lid on tight and throw it in to the sea. You and me will be under the sea, baby. Then I will walk away leaving our past alone under all that water. Perhaps the jar will roll around the sand, amongst the swaying weed, for a while. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Breathing but lifeless.
But then, one day soon, dashed by wild currents, all these pieces of us will fall out. They will be scattered. Memories released to wander. Out of a jar and in to the seething mass of stuff that is the world. All in constant flux - moving, fragmenting, transforming. One of those basic laws of physics at work.
Love, is like that too. It must move. It blossoms for a time, then dies and travels somewhere else. What does it become, once it has left? A glint of light off water, the buzz in a bee, a fragment of pottery lost in the earth for a thousand years. Who can say what it is or where it goes? Perhaps everything we touch once was love. Even a glass jar, so clear and hard it doesn't seem to have any secrets to hide.
Annabel
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