The Opener

When I was small, I liked the opener that my grandpa had. It was little, compact, and very convenient. And beautiful, too, despite the life crumpled it. I wished to have a similar one in an independent life.

This wish came true: now I have fucking adult life and the opener — the same. But it didn’t bring joy. Because there is no more grandpa and no sense of my life. Today, he would have been 100, but never will be. And I’ll never be.