I waited but a few hours before ‘Love’ overcame me; compelled me to gingerly remove the sprig of holly. The red berries burning brightly in the light. A leaf nicked my palm in my gentle haste and drew a pinpoint of blood, which my lips closed over and kissed away. The ribbon was tied tight, holding the box and contents close to the bow, the colour of my heart. I pulled and pulled until I conceded desire to patience. I took my time and eased the ribbon apart. It fell loose about my wrists, caressed my skin and bid me access to the paper beneath. I was careful not to unnecessarily tear it.
The box was split into six unequal compartments.
(the largest compartment) love letters; some folded; some balled up and some left unread.
a list of things i wished i did or could say
(the smallest compartment) a tiny dictaphone holding my first ‘i love you’.
a jar full of everything i wish for with a cut out paper star settled at the bottom.
a picture of you, signed with ‘always’.
a ball of clay – ready to shape, impression and bake.
I wondered if I should dismantle the sides; de-compartmentalise. I don’t know why but I decided against it. Instead, I removed the star from the jar and hung it in my window; because everyone needs something to wish on, now and then. I tucked the picture of you beneath my pillow. I read the unopened letters and vowed to remember them all – to not forget the people who had once made me whole.
Part Three will be published tomorrow.
© Kristiana Reed 2018