C'est Fous Reverie

The boy stares at the photo of his grandparents. A photo 53 years old; as old as Malaysia itself.
He smiles at the message inscribed at the back of the photo.

"To my dearest......"

The low light of dawn described his feeling perfectly; the overhead clouds drifted past in long, wispy streaks; the inconspicuous green tinges on both the western and eastern sky and the coolness of the morning breeze delivering the nostalgic scent of dew.

He sits up against the wall on his bed. The boy holds the fragments of a picture. He knows not the identity of the picture's portrayal; memory or destiny.

And he gazes out at the gradually rising sun. A swallow flies past the trees, and the clouds, and the sun, almost as if into another world.