Monday, 11 August 2014

The Box

Description:- brown; medium-sized; weathered; plain
Contents:- a book; a cinema ticket; a photograph of two hands; a drawing of a rose
Other details:- potentially lost items
Owner:- unknown

* * *
Sat on her bed she cries. She cries for her lost self. She swore this wouldn't be her; she would not be this girl. But then, was she really crying for her heart, or for her loss?
* * *

He was overly confident two years ago. She knew and he knew it. And he knew that wasn't the type of guy she was looking for. It was the type of guy she found, though.

She had looked down at the small piece of paper folded in half in her hands. Despite - as he was told later - being a little (a lot) put off by his cocky smile and talent of winking at her during class, she was too polite to be rude and responded, "This better not be your gum being deposited of in my hand."

"Would I do that to you?"

She unfolded it slowly, wary; sceptical. A smile, slowly but surely crept onto her lips. He was surprised. He was amazed too. That was one special smile. Full of honesty. "A rose," she said. "You drew a rose."

"I drew you a rose."

"But why?"

"A real one wouldn't last for ever. If a gift from me to you didn't last for ever, you'd forget me. The guy who's helplessly stood here, willing you to say yes to go on a date with him. At least this way, you have a memory of the guy whose heart you broke with that winning smile and polite rejection."

It's safe to say she said yes to that date. Eventually.
* * *
On the only October 3rd the two of them spent together, she cried to him. He listened, and held her hand, stroking her thumb softly, looking her in the eyes. She told him about how when her dad was dying, he told her to make memories and keep memories so that they never die.

That evening he unwrapped a paper bag and revealed a small and beautiful book of poetry she had marvelled over one Saturday afternoon in a bookshop hidden away in the quiet of a big town. "You remembered!" her face was full of excitement.


* * *
She looked down at her hands; the hands that loved being stroked by him. His hands were always tender; loving. She remembered their third date. They'd grown awfully close and they just wanted to be together. They booked tickets to a film, and they spent the whole time comforted by their hands meeting once again. They looked only at each other and not at the screen.
At the end of the night, he couldn't bring himself to hold her hands again. He was nervous. "I feel like I should wait; act cool. But I can't. Can I see you tomorrow?"

He still couldn't bring himself to hold her hands.
* * *
A brown box that looked more than adored with its feathery skin and dents, sat on the top of the lost and found desk. A lady walked out the back and before she realised what she was doing, a young girl took it, and quickly scuffled outside, hoping no one saw. Her mother was going to be a while and she was intrigued, and her brother had gone to the toilet. She could easily take that box and quickly shuffle off. He told her to stay seated and not move under any circumstances, but the box was special. She could tell when she first saw it.

It might not have looked like anything beautiful; but that box was everything beautiful.

She opened it, revealing a picture of a rose, a cinema ticket and a book. Face down was a square white card. She turned it to realise it was a photograph. A photograph of two hands. A picture of everything beautiful in the world.

The box was in the hands of a girl who understood; worthy hands.
* * *
Memories will never die, but they can be lost.
A Cinema Ticket & A Drawn Rose,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

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