The Key

It was all there.

His hopes.

His joy.

His pain.

His soul.

Letters, words, paragraphs weaved seamlessly into the very fabric of each page.

Each moment, each brief instance, each day bound into one volume.

The volume of his life.

He was flipping through the pages, the tips of his fingers brushing upon his lost thoughts, forgotten desires, vague memories, lucid dreams.

All was there.

But something was not.

He squeezed his hand tighter.

He was still holding it. Never lost. Never found.

It felt like he always had it. Even before the book. Even before his time.

That key. Her key he was holding.

Now he knows she was missing, not in his book anymore.

Gone.

Erased.

Forgotten.

Or was she ever there?

It was maddening. It was that madness he was holding now in his hand. His madness shaped into a golden key.

Her key. The key to her heart. The heart that he once lost.

Or has it ever been?