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.