I keep your memories in a box on my nightstand, the top closed tightly to make sure they stay safe inside. As a child I had watched you build it, carefully measuring and constructing. Until one day it was just there, a wooden chest that fit in your hand, both of mine at that age.
It was a thing of wonder.
You told me I would build my own one day, but that time was far in the distance. I watched you fill it through the years, bits and pieces of you tucked away. Saving them, passing them down to me before your death. Ensuring I still had you, and was never alone.
I open it every night, letting your memories dance through my own. Always a joyful reunion, finding each other in the shared landscape of my dreams.