A misplace.

A fluttering dream.

Just like another stone, broken off from the road, destined to be kicked far away.

Yet like a dying cocoon, it sprung it lines toward fates, trying to hold back what it’s not supposed to have.

And it wonders.

Will the man laugh again, will he again cry because of something that’s important to him.

Throughout the years, it held his hand to build statues engraving good memories, now eternal in his palace of mind, and through endless night, accompany him through haunting mistakes.

Will he be able to find something similar to it?

It doesn’t know.

It sees the man closing the door without looking back, and slowly whispers.

“Thank you.”