Key and Lock

She was a beautiful key: long and slender, the old-fashioned kind that was meant to fit in a keyhole, with three teeth at the end of her brazen shaft.  She was only three inches long.  Her head was a mass of delicate swirls and patterns that seemed too elaborate for practical use.  She hung from a chain next to a window, and swung in the breeze when it was open.  There was a blanket of cobwebs encasing her where she hung, for no one had reached  up for her in years.


It had been so long since she had actually been used she wondered whether she went to anything at all.  Everyone else may have forgotten what she unlocked, including herself, but she knew for certain that she belonged to something.  She knew that for every key, there is a lock, and every lock has something behind it.  That is why even as the days went by, the seasons turned, and years changed all into just memories, the key still swung from her chain by the window, waiting for the one day when someone would finally remember her and find where she belonged.