It was a simple lock. For such an intricate box--plated in gold, way heavier than its size indicated--the lock was far too simple. Like it was asking to be opened.And so it was with her heart. The lock was simple, and the key was a tender "I Love You" every now and then. She barred you from its contents, but she never changed the lock. And for thirty-four years it remained closed.But the final "I Love You" made it fall openrevealing her treasure. You weren't too late to find it.She still loved you as well. Cancer can be a cruel and heartless bastard.
Geez, Walt. Now you've got me crying.
It was a simple lock. For such an intricate box--plated in gold, way heavier than its size indicated--the lock was far too simple. Like it was asking to be opened.Which was precisely why I had left it untouched since it had first appear on the foot of my bed two weeks ago. I was no fool. Any container that inviting and that accessible had to be a trap. My wisdom did not mean I wasn't tempted. I was fixated on the thing. I couldn't help but stare it every time I was in the room. It was to the point I couldn't sleep in my bed, because if I tried I tossed and turned woke up every few minutes to look at the box and reconsider if there was anyway to justify opening it.But now it was ticking.Traps that tick are usually bombs.A good reason to open it, I supposed. To get the bomb out of there. But opening it might trigger the bomb. Even if it didn't, it's not as if I knew anything about bomb disposal.I needed to just leave it there, on the end of my bed. Period. That's all there was to it. Nothing else to do. Just leave it.The ticking never stopped, though. Four years later, the box was still on my bed, still ticking, and still unopened. I had moved all my clothes and other things into the living room. I never went into the bedroom. I sometimes peaked in through a barely opened door. I often pressed my ear to that door to check for the ticking sound. But I never went in.I was no fool. I wouldn't fall for a trap as obvious as that.