‘It’ just a pile of junk,’ he said looking at my haul.

A child’s painting, a certificate for swimming and a birthday card.

To me they were more precious than gold.

To me they were reminders of a happy childhood.

‘They’re not junk, they’re memories.’

Placed back in the pink box, alongside photographs of family, my treasure was safe.

Published by writerravenclaw

I am a fifty something mother of two grown up children, and one beautiful grandchild. I have been married for nearly thirty-four years. My first book was published ten years ago. I wrote my book Sticks and Stones because of my experience of being bullied at school.

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