He’d been excited about the old box all day. Tonight they will light their candles, set it on the mantlepiece and reminisce. Perhaps the smell of the old wax will taint the aroma of their full-bodied wine, but perhaps the wine is not so much about its aroma. He will play his heart-wrenching music and be taken to rare and unexpected places. They will listen to it and be taken similarly. Eventually it will be the three of them. Him, her and their wine. They will befall the curse of contentment and they will talk.
Tonight they will bask in the candlelight, hopeless in their abandon. She’d been excited about the old box all day. She will light her cigarette and put her mind to work behind the curtain of smoke. She will breathe the thick air and lose her thoughts to its toxicity. She will take pictures on the camera she wears around her neck. She wears it as she would a necklace, but uses it like she would, a gun. They will smile for the camera and maybe, if they remember that they are alone, they will be themselves. She will leave her photographs on the mantelpiece with her camera, her candles and her cigarettes for a few weeks. Everything she loves in one place. She will then retire her photographs to an old box, of which she has many.