A failed entry to a Readers’ Digest 100 word event contest.

I used to be visited often. They were happy moments with much affection.

But then I began to find myself left alone. They were losing interest in me like I was now part of the furniture. They looked right through me, or beyond me, any place but at me. I could only guess the reason why.

They had grown up. I had not. Perhaps for this they no longer felt comfortable in my company.

My time had always been spent in the living-room. Then one day I found myself in the attic.

A discarded memory.

One fading photograph among many.

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