A Collection Box

I came across a shoe box from long ago. The shoes that once filled the box, I remember not, but what it has now is a collection of all my memories. Ever since I started getting cards and souvenirs, I threw them all in: thank you cards, goodbye notes, tickets of travels and sorts.

I was simply looking through to find some lost files, but was soon reminded of past friends and relationships, of people that I should never forget, of experiences that made me who I was now. As I was about to close the box, a card dropped out from the cover.

It had an old student ID, not of mine, but of hers. The card wrote, “Congratulations to graduating! If you ever need anything let me know. I will do my best, I promise!” She had written the card years before we had started dating. I was told she recently got married.

I thought about all that I needed, all that I could ask her help for, but it was all too late now. It was but a broken promise. Soon, I saw all the other love letters and memoirs, of how every words spoken were but empty words.

The memory box was but a collection of broken promises: of forgotten love, of irrelevant memories, of wasted time together, of love given up.

With but a single match, all of just burn up into the wind. Perhaps afterwards, what matters shall be salvaged.