He stroked the old wooden chest, sitting upon the gnarled planks of the attic floor, beneath a thick layer of dust,
He blew on the aged surface of the mahogany, polishing it with his fingers,
He lifted the lid, carefully, as if he needed a lifetime to come to terms with his actions,
He picked up the photograph lying innocently amid a pile of memories,
He looked at the crumpled card folded in his hand,
He watched her eyes sparkle with the adventure of a new day,
He stared at his own inquisitive eyes, yearning for an escapade,
He thought about those same eyes now, crippled with grief, anger, sorrow, regret...
He pondered how in only twenty years, things can change and people do change...
He gazed into the heart of the fire, the card’s corners curling, the image browning, the memories erasing...
by Lizzie Sanders