roanoke

a money clip was given to him, years ago. he always carries it in a pocket of whatever pants or shorts he is wearing. it was given to him by a woman who died young, and hard, bore him children, shared his life. his former life, his family, his lost colony.

he misplaced it. the woman he was with at that time bought him another. as soon he found the first, he quickly retired its successor, much to the chagrin of that woman. they did not share a life, but lived together, then, inevitably, moved apart.

when he takes this money clip out of his pocket, he dreams. lost time, lost life, things that could not be fixed, nor replaced. he holds it gently, looking wistfully at the initials, its texture. a soft, sad look cover his face. when she mentions this to him, he denies...to her, to himself...