The key that opens nothing.

It has outlasted three key rings, two moves, and every sensible attempt to clear out the kitchen drawer. Nobody in this house can remember which door it opened.

I think it belonged to the flat with the blue hallway. The one where the heating made a noise like someone quietly applauding, and the windows had to be persuaded shut. We had almost no furniture. We ate dinner sitting on the floor.

The lock will have been changed by now. The hallway might not be blue. But when I pick up this key, I can still find my way there.

So it stays. Not because it opens anything. Because it brings something back.