White opera gloves. Orange underpants. One pair of crutches.
The objects on display are unrelated in almost every way. The only quality they share is heartbreak.
Lock of hair. Shards of glass. Penguin cuff links.
Some are outright funny, some are gut-stabbingly sad, and some border on heebie-jeebie creepy. But no matter their size, condition, or origin, all are fraught with a feeling that’s familiar to most any adult, in any country: the ache of a fizzled affair.
Fur-lined handcuffs. Mercedes hood ornament. Under-knee prosthesis. Yes. That’s right. Prosthesis. Continue reading A Shrine to Splitsville: The Flotsam of Ill-Fated Flings