Keys

I inherited your set of keys. Metal worn down by your fingertips over the years, the bunch filling with small mysterious keys that have rusted and little trinkets gleaned from a lifetime collection of key rings from people returning from overseas, those given out during promotions of a new athlete's drink and ones you buy yourself.

You opted for the small jade sphere, pierced through with a red string that has survived the cut and grind of the keys as they jangle around in your pockets.

There are two keys made of light metal that would bend in my fingers if I wanted them to. I look at them, read the name embossed on each and know they will not share a reunion with any number of locked and secret places.