We all have a little bank inside of us — holding our emotions like shiny little coins to dole out when we need them.
Some of them glisten like diamonds. We withdraw those when we hear our niece or nephew’s heartbeat via sonogram for the first time. They escape through our eyes in translucent waves and from our mouths in bouncy giggles.
Some of them glow like moonstones. We withdraw those when the candles we lit to set the mood provide just enough light to stare into the amber eyes of our lovers.
Some of them glare like forest fires. We withdraw those when the television tells us another minority life ended much too soon at the hands of the authorities. They send flames searing through our bodies, stopping at our fists.
And then, there are those that don’t glisten at all. They’re a dull, putrid color. They’re heavy and inconvenient and get in the way of everything. They take up the most space in the bank while being worth the least. We withdraw those when we see we weren’t worth the trouble to our past loves, but someone else is. It presents itself in a pulsing ache from head to toe, with our hearts as the epicenter.
In the entire Bank of Feelings, that one is the worst one.
In the entire Bank of Feelings, that’s the one we want to keep locked in the vault.