Matchbox Full of Pebbles

Dear Delyara, I found an old cardboard matchbox from a restaurant in Paris in the back of my coat closet. Inside, there weren't any matches—just three small, smooth gray pebbles I must have picked up from a riverbank years ago. I can’t even remember which river it was. It’s strange what the mind chooses to preserve; the expensive meals are totally forgotten, but the weight of three free stones stays in your pocket for a decade.