(crossposting from my substack because I'm quite proud of this one)
There’s a box in the corner, full of things best left forgotten. The cardboard is bland and sunbleached, the corners battered and the sides dented. Several lines of tape cover the top, some sliced open, some still holding, with dust caught in the curling edges.
Most of the time, I pay no attention to it. It sits there, tucked away, unassuming. Sometimes, when I’m in a rush, I sit something else on top, and it makes the box a bit more memorable for a while. Once I draped a tablecloth over it, a dark material with a subtle pattern, thinking that might make it blend in better. It only made it more obvious. Occasionally I’ve pushed it under a table or a chair while rearranging things, but inevitably that lead to kicked toes and bruised shins. So in the corner it sits, waiting, aging, fading.
There are times I can’t avoid it though. Rushing through life, sometimes my foot will clip its corner. Sometimes I stumble; sometimes I fall, its weight surprising me as I collapse. Some days it sits in the corner of my vision, there no matter where I look, and I find myself remembering the shape of the things hidden inside. Some days I close my eyes and it is there, looming, its sides straining to hold all that is hidden inside.
