Ever since I could remember, my grandparents own/owned a woodstove, and today I noticed that the fire that my brother made earlier in the morning was burning out and on its last flame. I sat in front of it like I used to do many times with my grandfather when he was alive and crumpled up old newspaper and threw it in like he taught me.
The tears started to come, but the wetness never touched my cheeks. Its times like this that make me realize how much I miss my grandpa.
Isn’t it funny how the littlest of things can bring memories that make your heart clench in the worst of ways? Maybe not funny, but perhaps ironic.