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A sun shines, fresh air they want to meet
It was only supposed to be a short walk
a show shuffle dance of cane and feet
Back home again to find the door locked
No memory of the act and a key misplaced
So again they settle down a while to wait
A trip back in time to a day they both faced
A kiss, a ring, and a promise seal their fate
A neighbor passing by smiles at the pair
It's not the first time they've been in view
As often in love as in each other's hair
But of these time tested, there are so few
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It was time to say goodbye to the reminders that refused to let the memories fade. It was supposed to only be a piece of furniture, not the embodiment of her years of suffering. Like the drawer she kept locked, herself the sole possessor of the key, she had slowly pulled away and hidden from public view the parts of her that felt alive. She could mentally picture everything in that special drawer... the ribbon that bound her ear-worn "Leaves of Grass", that single picture of baby Michael before he died shortly after birth, the dried petals that spoke of a marriage that was once the center of her universe. And just like the flower, their passion had shriveled up with time, now that Tom married to his job as well as her. The only things that brought a smile to his face now were the stock gains and news from the office of the next business trip or challenge.
As she watched them load up the armoire in the back of a moving van and handed the key to the newlywed couple who had answered the ad, a single, solitary tear escaped and rolled halfway down her cheek before her hand hastily wiped it away, her mind silently scolding. Tom had gotten the armoire in his bachelor days, and it had never been hers, except for that single drawer she had used when she discovered the key. After remodeling to make their home "presentable", the armoire had been out of place, and Tom's suggestion to sell was met with half hearted agreement. Hugging the box that held the contents of that drawer, she took one last glance of the place she had called home. The entryway table with the propped envelope, a single sheet inside with " It's time to let me go." No signature, no date, just that delicate handwriting that had once written lovers letters as they waited in anticipation across the miles for that day to say "I Do". Shutting the door softly, she turned and began the journey down the road, her life defined by the contents of a single cardboard shoebox.
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Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna
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