My hands run over the grainy surface, and I feel the memories. The small cracks and bumps ignite the flames of moments in time in my mind. I close my eyes and let them wash over me.
I am standing on a beach. She is beside me. Wild red hair blowing back in the ocean breeze. The sun is setting and I can feel the last of its warmth on my skin. She takes my hand, turns to me and smiles. There are tears glistening in her eyes.
We are sitting on a couch, her eyes are closed and her chest rises and falls with the steady rhythm of the sleeper. Tears are falling from my eyes. I keep them silent. I won’t let her see me cry.
Happier times. Christmas. Our families are with us, opening presents. I can smell dinner cooking. She catches my eye and hands me a silver package, tied with a perfect blue bow. I open it and inside is the necklace that I had admired in the shop window months ago. I smile, happy tears in my eyes.
It is raining. Miserable. The perfect weather for a day like today. I close my eyes, refusing to see the box disappear, refusing to accept the truth. She is not gone. She cannot be gone.
My hands caress the cracked and worn surface. I don’t know how I will ever bear to stop remembering, how I will ever not need to sit here and hold this and let myself be taken back. I do not know.
Originally published on Describli, written from the prompt: Feeling its history