The Empty Box

I hold in my hands this empty box. It once contained a symbol. A symbol of love and commitment.

I was younger then, and so were you. We were just a pair of young lovers with starry eyes and innocent dreams.

The box is empty. I returned the symbol, the token of a promise, and put away my broken heart.

That broken heart did not sink into a grave, with a tombstone over it. It carried on, beating a new song.

That song is what let me accept your offers of love and commitment a second time. This time there was no token.

That token was not needed. Burnt twice by an imperfect vision, a heart shattered yet again, along with our hopes.

Am I angry with you? How could I be? You met another, and are happy in your new romance.

I think of you, not with anger, but with gratitude. That empty box remains with me as a new symbol.

It's an empty box, as empty as the love that we'd shared betwixt us. The token was returned to you.

I remain grateful for what never could be betwixt us. It steered me toward a better direction, a brighter star.

Our star burnt out long ago, yet whilst it did burn, I was a happy woman. I hope and pray you were a happy man.

The empty box remains a symbol, a reminder of what might have been. It's contents are gone. You are, too.

Friend, former lover, go in peace. Go forward in your newfound happiness. There is no hatred in my heart.

There never shall be hatred, no desire for revenge. That is not what life, and love, are about.

Go in peace. The fire has gone out, but there shall remain respect and gratitude. Be well.