It was in here somewhere, it had to be.
This is the box where I kept my most treasured possessions.
I pulled out a half-finished dream, that wasn’t it. Next came an argument still fermenting, then a small silver box containing the lies you told me, my broken heart wrapped up in brown paper, the remnants of our last fight, a jar of tears shed when you left me.
Then I find it, tucked away in the corner out of sight, the memory of our first kiss on that ride at the fair.
I hold it tight and cry.
A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.
Photo courtesy of J Hardy Carroll.
Categories: 100-Word Stories
A writer of short stories.