There’s a shoebox in the closet near the bathroom. The running shoes that once occupied the box are long gone. Today, it has things I bought when she would spend the night. There’s a pink loofah and the coconut-scented body wash she liked. Her almost-empty deodorant and cologne remind me of the night we met. A toothbrush and paste that kept her smile bright and breath minty fresh. A hairbrush with a few strands of hair still tangled in the bristles. The last item in the shoebox—a diamond ring. Like her, it’s beautiful, but she will never wear it.
A Box of Memories
By Michael W King