Closet cleaning. That time of the year. Jewelry boxes stirred my curiosity.
Years ago, bright things attracted me, cloisonne, precious and semi-precious gemstones. Provenance pulled at me, the story of the thing, the antique dealers knew me.
I rarely wear jewelry now, if at all. My wedding ring was boxed long before divorce was contemplated.
Today it was earrings and what-not, almost all artifacts without present or future use. The ornate dragon charm that meant so much, the antique mother-of-pearl silver earrings with matching cuff that are beautiful still. A strand of pearls from a man who loved me, one diamond stud, its partner lost. My first pair of earrings and many in-between.
Even as I write, I add to the discard pile. Knotted chains, a crescent moon with inlaid amethyst I tried to retrieve from tarnish and ruined in the process. You cannot go back. Bangles I will never wear. Costume jewelry and red coral, silver and dull gold.
They held something once, said something. But despite their age, they remain young, unlike me.
What am I keeping? The diamond stud, the string of pearls, the small gold dragon. The dangling shell earrings from the 1970’s. The mother-of-pearl and a few others. The wedding ring long sold to pay for legal proceedings – a fitting end.
Trinkets and tarnish, if you have one, you get the other.
Shouldn't...but Do 
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