There was whispering in the background. Shuffling across the dark squeaky room, the path ahead seemed endlessly perplexing. Cautiously approaching the giant iron door, the clanking of keys echoed through the room as it was pulled out of the shallow pockets of that old pair of chinos.

The heavy box of poignant books sat well between the other boxes of melancholy and ache. Walking out of the room and locking the door again, I heaved a sigh of relief.
_________

Somehow it feels better to shut it in before it takes its toll on myself.
Should it really mean that much, bringing it out later would bring about the same sort of emotion all over again.
If I wrote it well, reading it once would evoke the same vivid memories.
Hah - maybe this would make running lighter and more refreshing.

Sylvia. Syl. And someone you'll never expect me to be.