Sometimes, when she was tired, or feeling down, or just plain bored, she'd find herself looking through her old school things. She swore to herself before that she wouldn't. But she always came back to them. She always came back to him. She would laugh at first, at all the funny faces he made in the pictures. Then she realized she hadn't seen those funny faces in so long, so she'd cry. She'd cry and make a fuss, even though she knew he hadn't liked it when she made a fuss. The dust from the photo albums flew into her face as she sobbed, making her eyes water more. She'd get angry. She'd wonder what she ever saw in him. Then she realized it was only everything. Eventually, when the tears were done and the laughs were long gone, and she was usually feeling more tired, or down, or just bored, she'd put the box away. Back to the old attic where she'd hope they would always stay. She'd swear to never look at them again. She'd never have to see his face again, thankfully, she said. She never would. Until the next time she got her box.