She walked down that road again, the one she’d gone down so many times already, in her mind. This time, her feet complied; sure, steady steps, which in her mind had been haltering, hesitating, every single time – until the last.
A drab wooden box, unadorned and plain, lay at the end of this path. She lifted it slowly, caressed it almost lovingly, then opened it to look into her memories. A bundle of old letters, tied together by a ribbon of the softest pink looked back; a bundle of letters that had once been written by a caring hand, and delivered with an almost reverent touch.
She paused for a long moment, her prize in her hands, and untied the ribbon holding it together. The letters came loose, slipped and fell in sheets around her. She knelt down, offered a few, final glistening drops of grief as tribute to something precious, though long gone, and began collecting them, one by one.
Each letter revived a lost moment; each line in blue brought back a sentiment. But she dismissed the kaleidoscope of images that threatened to dilute her resolve and with a stubborn hand, thrust them into the hungry flame of a grey wax candle. The pale, ageing papers crackled, turned inward, singed, and then burned. And somewhere in the curling smoke that rose from it, evanesced the hopes and dreams of a younger, more innocent girl at a happier time.
The smoke briefly cast an illusive shadow of a face from the past...once intensely loved, immensely trusted, and then dissipated into nothingness.
He had not asked, not said a word before he had gone away, nor had he explained why, and she had been unable to completely give him up. This time though, she could willingly let him go. She would willingly release his memories.
And in doing so, finally, be set free.
