By Amara Ego

Like a candy necklace, those memories—sticky and imperfect—still hold their sweetness. Even if the pieces don't fit as they once did, they still matter. They linger.

Tucked away in the back of my drawer, I spotted a withered relic — fraying string, sun-bleached beads, sticky to the touch — and I knew instantly what it was. A candy necklace, faded but unmistakable, caught my eye like a forgotten memory waiting to resurface. Without thinking, I pulled it over my head, feeling the tightness against my skin. The beads clung to me uncomfortably, as if summer itself had returned with its relentless heat, sticky and sweet like the remnants of something I once adored. I pressed my thumb against the beads, trying to smooth their shape, but the more I did, the more the sugary residue blended with my sweat, turning my small effort into a bittersweet reminder of a simpler joy.

It took me back to when that tightness wasn’t there, when the candy necklace hung loosely around my neck during endless summer days. I can still see it clearly: dashing through sprinklers, laughter filling the air as the sun kissed our damp faces. My necklace, half-eaten, cracked sweetly between my teeth as we raced, slippery feet sprinting across the wet grass. Back then, the stickiness was part of the fun, a badge of honor from a day well spent. We ran, giggling and breathless, time stretching endlessly before us as if summer might never end.

But now, standing here, even the warmth of the sun couldn’t mask the wrongness I felt. That version of summer — of myself — had slipped away. When I took the necklace off, it was faded, cracked, its magic long gone. I turned it over in my hands, searching for some spark of that youthful charm. The beads stuck to my fingers, their sweetness more of a burden than a treat. I used to love the way these necklaces were both a snack and a piece of jewelry, but now they were only a reminder of the distance between me and those carefree days.

I went to slip it back on my neck, this time more carefully — but the string snapped, and the beads scattered across the floor, bouncing away as they tried to escape my grasp. As a child, I would have chased after them, crawling under tables and laughing as I gathered every last one. Now I just stood there, watching them roll out of reach. The act resembled strikingly  those friendships that had once been so close but had slowly unraveled over time. No dramatic falling out, just the natural drift of our lives pulling us apart — each bead a piece of our shared past slipping through my fingers.

I thought of us back then — sprawled out on the living room floor during sleepovers, the aroma of popcorn, exchanging whispers under the soft glow of fairy lights. We’d drape blankets over furniture, creating forts of safety, our candy necklaces gleaming in the dim light. Those moments felt eternal, like we could stay suspended in that warmth forever. But as the beads rolled away from me now, I saw how fragile it all had been — our promises of lifelong friendship, our shared dreams.

We had imagined it all: graduations, weddings, the milestones we swore we’d witness together. But life had other plans. One by one, they moved on — new states, new friends, new chapters. And I, too, became consumed by my studies. Sometimes I see glimpses of their lives — photos of their newborns, hiking trails I can’t pronounce — and I wonder if they ever think of me, of the promises we made. Do they remember the candy necklaces, those symbols of our bond?

I crouched down to gather the beads. They were chipped and dull, like the fragments of those friendships I still held onto, despite knowing they no longer fit. There’s comfort in that, though — in knowing those memories shaped me, even if they’re imperfect now. I smiled at the thought of us, back when everything felt unbreakable.

Looking back, I realize those promises weren’t meant to last forever. Friendships evolve, much like the necklaces we once wore. They break, fade, stretch thin — but that doesn’t make them any less meaningful. I think about those old friendships not with sadness but with gratitude for how they helped me grow. There’s a quiet peace in accepting that things change, that we can cherish what was while making room for what’s to come.

I realize now that the beauty isn’t in trying to hold on too tightly, to force things to remain the same. It’s in letting go, in embracing the changes as they come. Just like that candy necklace, those memories — sticky, messy, imperfect — will always hold a sweetness of their own. And though the pieces may no longer fit together like they once did, they still matter. They still linger.

And maybe, in the end, that’s enough. Even in their brokenness, those moments still shimmer with the beauty of what they once were. And the sweetness — the memory of a summer long gone — stays with me, a reminder that some things, though fleeting, remain precious all the same. ■