The sun goes down. Music is turned from the streets and now plays in your head. Dancing fireflies, wickedly spinning from cell to cell, creating new ideas that could possibly change your mindset.
You feel no pain but the ache in your heart becomes active and the smile you knew through the shining sun; now disappears, entering questions of darkness that no one seems to understand or see the answers.
You remember the exact spot where the big, brown dusty box with the rusty lid rest. You go to it and you stare at it as if you are trying to burn holes in the skin so you don’t actually touch what is inside.
Seeing nothing happening, you touch the brass handle and with two delicate hands, you pry open the lid. You raise it and listen to the squeak of the aged hinges. Being able to lift it no higher, it stands proud, inviting you to revisit what was once alive.
You scan as if you are taking an x-ray until you see the off-white, stained material. You pick it up and gently place it in your hands. You nuzzle it and press it close to your bosom. You walk over to the rickety, wood rocker and sit down.
The rocker moves to the music you are humming. The words dance happily in your head and you skip back in time remembering what once was yours. The hour passed and it was almost too dark to see to return back to the reality of today. She gently lay her friend back in the spot she had retrieved it. She quietly lowered the lid and made her way back to the chair by the window.