I'm a flighty person. And I move bumble-bee-ishly about. I find jewelry in funny places -- behind books, in kitchen drawers -- because I become wildly frustrated with it and abandon it subconsciously, in the midst of my buzzing.
I romanticize this, too. I imagine it fast-forwarded, I imagine children at my feet, I imagine what they see. Bare arms and the glint of a single ring here or there, a delicate gold chain to tug on. Just that. (Of course, as always, this is tied to my mother memories, too.)
We are human, which is to say, we attach meaning to things. We create symbols constantly. I suppose, for me, it's this: I like the idea of sticking to a few. I need fewer. I need to let the few do as they do -- let them steep in the hot water of time.