100-Word Microstory Contest Winner, Adult
Nostalgia is an acid, corroding the sharp edges of the past until only the pablum of memory remains. He had never been the boy depicted in the photograph on his desk, not even the happiest boy in the world could have been that boy; he never existed. Still, as memo melted into memo meeting into meeting and year into year, he looked at the boy and yearned for those halcyon years. All the while forgetting how he hated that sweater, how the football pants pinched, how his parents argued until he could barely smile. All forgotten, replaced by fond recollections.