borne back ceaselessly into the past

larger version

i found this in an old notebook yesterday.  there’s other stuff on the page, but here’s the passage in question, verbatim:

last night at the bar, he was looking at my cartilage piercing earring, a loop from which dangled a silver charm, consisting of a little heart and a key a small key and a small heart.  i made all manner of excuses regarding the heart–the fact that the heart bit is really not my taste, but i couldn’t remove it without destroying the charm key.  he removed his pocketknife from his keychain and, after i removed my earring and gave it to him, snapped the heart broke the silver loop on the heart, sending the heart it flying off somewhere, leaving the key intact.  we looked for the heart for a moment, but couldn’t find it, and eventually gave up.  as we were leaving hours later, i pushed back my chair and saw the heart on the floor underneath, amid cigarette ashes and footsmashed pretzels.
“i found it!” i said, holding the little silver charm up between my thumb and forefinger.
he looked at it closely, then smiled.  “oh yeah,” he said.  “can i have it?”
i handed dropped it into his hand and he slipped it in his pocket.

now i feel really weird.

who are you, person who took my heart?  i didn’t know you had it.  i can’t even remember who you are.  all i know is that you kept a pocketknife on your keychain, and you and i spent part of an evening, most likely wednesday, november 1, 2000, in a bar that served pretzels.  as it was wednesday, it might have been the harp, and we may or may not have thrown said pretzels at one another.

anyway, i’d like my heart back, please.  it’s been nearly three years and i still feel kind of odd without it.