She loved little collectibles shops, the smell, the hidden treasures, people’s lives laid out in the objects they loved.
A rare photo album was her favourite, she’d flick through the pages of strangers smiles, holidays and family celebrations She always felt a little sad that someones memories had been lost amongst the bric a brac until the day she found her own. Resting her walking stick against the table she turned the empty pages of the dusty book, it only had one photo left, a photo of her. Her frail fingers ran across the photo as the memory of that time ran through her mind. It had been her awakening, he had turned on the lights and she shone so brightly for him. Never had she been more alive than when he had loved her.


Sinful Sunday