They are beautiful earrings, silver spirals hanging from my earlobes, long and delicate strands of metal. They nearly brush against the tops of my shoulders. I both love them and hate them.
Nikola is gone.
He says he will return, and these earrings are his promise of that.
Promises are nothing new to me. They are handed out like fortune cookies after dinner. They are frequently as disposable as the papers within.
He has a plane ride to Europe.
I have beautiful and perhaps ultimately disposable earrings.
Something so small balanced against something so large.