Memories

Nostalgia fills me, as I enter the room where I played the most interesting chess matches with my grandpa. The memories come rushing to me like a wave rushes to the beach just to anticipate rushing back to the sea. Wooden chess pieces scattered around, laughter and disappointment looming in the room, that's the way I remember the afternoons that I spent playing chess with grandpa. 

The little things always come back to us, don't they? Like the sound of the chess piece striking the board or my booming loud voice and grandpa's soft voice saying "checkmate" echoing in the room.

Now the board lies underneath hundred of things, covered in dust, somewhere in a corner of my cupboard as the memory of playing chess tries to escape from being buried underneath millions of memories and surfaces upon the edge. 

My brain weaves threads on my chess memories as it tries to patch up the missing pieces which have fallen and gotten buried underneath some forgotten memories. As my brain continues it's patchwork, I sit and wonder how I could have played one last time with him before he breathed his last breath and if I'll ever find a chess partner as good as him.