After she left the canteen, I picked up the chocolate bar wrapper she’d dropped onto the next table. Crumpled, discarded, something she’d forgotten about.
But she had handled it.
It was hers. The woman of summer.
The woman with the smile I ached for.
In anyone else’s eyes, this would have been worthless.
Just a piece of litter, after all.
But now it was mine, to keep her memory alive.
As I held it in my fingers, it spoke of her. I could see where she had unwrapped it, how her lovely fingers had chosen to part it.
My fingers could trace where her fingers had been.
And because this wrapper recorded her choices, it wasn’t worthless at all, it was invaluable.
Even after she married someone else, my heartache made me keep it. I’d imagine her in their house, sitting together cosily on the sofa, and wonder if she still unwrapped her chocolate bars in the same way.
Filed under: Love, Micro-fiction Tagged: Chocolate, Flash fiction, Romance, Women
