Fifty Years


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


Ron had thought it was silly, but Elizabeth hadn’t let it bother her.  Keepsakes were important.  They  were reminders of precious moments along the course of life, and some could be passed on to children and grandchildren.

She lifted the box carefully from her closet shelf. It had been opened only one other time since their wedding day, and that had been on their 25th anniversary. The corners of the box were turning yellow, and when she lifted the cover, she was surprised at how brittle and yellow the paper had become.

“Like me,” she thought with a smile. “Skin as thin as this paper, and just as worn out.”

It didn’t matter, though. It really didn’t.


She folded the paper back, and there were the beautiful long white tapers  that had graced the altar at their wedding ceremony fifty years ago. Fifty!  She could hardly believe so much time had passed, yet her hands gave her away.  She noticed, as she lifted the tapers out of the box, how spotted and wrinkled her hands had become. Shaking her head, she dismissed that reality, too.  It just didn’t matter. Those hands had worked hard, loved much, prayed often.

She placed the tapers carefully in their silver stands, stepping back to admire how beautiful they still were. They were burned down a little and were no longer even, but they were still lovely.

Ron stepped up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She turned to look into his beloved face, noting the lines and creases from laughter, tears, and weather. He was still her Ron, and fifty years may have dimmed her vision, but not their love.

“You know that you are the light of my life, don’t you?” Ron asked. “The tapers are nice, and I’m glad you saved them for this shindig the kids want to give us.  But you are the one I’ll be looking at.  Just like always.”

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