I jumped onto the cardboard box to try and clamp it shut, pushing down as hard as I could to tape it all up. Sights, sounds, and sentiments were bursting at the seams, gushing out from my box of bitter memories.
I had broken a sweat using all my might to tape it up. Even used two rolls of tape this time for extra reinforcement. I finally had it all closed,
only to impulsively rip it open again.
It's nice to be able to look through it all. To know it's there for me to explore if I feel the urge. The part I hate yet can never seem to avoid is questioning why it's all there. I'll find one piece and ask myself whether I could have avoided its arrival into my collection.
bleed scrape bleed itch bleed pull bleed scratch bleed (the soundtrack to my ceaseless gnawing at emotional scabs)
You're forcing me to put you in there, too. You want me to throw you in that box along with everything else that's done, finished, and relegated to my past forever. You've come today with a ribbon for me to wrap it with once you've stepped inside and closed it shut, but I'd rather have you here, alongside me, as we sit on the foot of my bed sifting through all of this together.
