like trinkets in an old shop

After they had been dating for awhile, Nic wanted to show her his favorite movie.  The film was something that had been weaved into the very fabric of his being, something he had watched more times than he could count as a child, something that had had a tremendous effect on the man that he turned into.  He knew every scene by heart, could mimic the tone and register of the dialogue exactly.  The movie meant to so much to him, and he couldn’t wait to share it with her.  When they sat down to watch it, he kept stealing glances at her, wanting to see how she reacted, but by the middle of the screening, he was in a terrible mood.  She wasn’t reacting to anything!  By the end, when he asked her if she had liked it, she responded with a genuine, but unimpressive, “Yes.”  And that was all she had to say.  There are things in our lives that we love for reasons only we understand, the things, music, films, pictures, carry very specific weight with us because we carried them across the landscape of our lives.  But when we set them down and show them off to others, that significance for them is invisible.  They are like trinkets in an old shop, and things unmistakably fine, but with little resonance; they have only our descriptions and stories for context.  Part of a successful relationship, he thought, was coming to terms with the idea that, while he should never stop sharing these parts of himself, it was setting himself up for disappointment hoping she would react to it as he would.  What he could do was share it with her, and tell her the story.  And that would be enough.  Just to share himself that way.