Dust thinly layers the glossy wood finish of this furniture.
Deep inside are paper pieces of memories, in disarray.
Ironically, this hope chest keeps secret fears frozen in time.
Ironically, this wooden casket remains centerpiece in my bedroom.
Sometimes, before the sun finishes setting, the last bit of light travels through the broken shades on my window and illuminates the worn cherry wood.
I stare for a while to see if the past tries to climb out and greet it, but it stays hidden in the shadows of time.
I dare not make known my curiosity.
I fear the awakening of the malice hidden within.
So we both sit, and speak not of the existence of one another,
for 10 years.
