i am looking for the watch the way sara had looked for emily
a few days ago, i found it.
the perfect one, which had
a round gold-rimmed face
roman numerals
a plain brown leather strap
a perfect petite size.
alas ! it was already around someone else's wrist.
i get a picture and say to her over and over how pretty it is.
(because it really, honest to god, is.)
later on i show this pretty thing to papa and tell him about the dream watch and he goes into the room for some time
he emerges soon with another (almost) similar watch that (almost) fits the bill
(there are no roman numerals)
says it was once his and is over fifteen years old.
i look at it for a few seconds and decide that
it is a very beautiful watch, but i do not like it.
the face is too, too big, and too bold.
there is something calloused about it, but it sits around my wrist like a gawky adolescent.
it doesn't fit, it isn't right.
it is a very beautiful watch but i do not like it because it is not The One.
yet i feel very tender towards it for it has become, inadvertently, a family heirloom
and i am a sentimental fool who would be the kind to love such things as these.
i will keep it and care for it and love it the way you do a niece,
but it is not The One
and the search persists.
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