A box, tucked away

A box, tucked away

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t even a thing, and in this moment, I am fully aware that I miss something that is not you. 

As I try to pin that down, I unpackage my own head in a manner so that after this ordeal, I may simply wrap my memories of you up so neatly that it would appear untouched. I do this carefully, but quickly, as I fear the lingering of your face in the forefront of my brain serves no justice for my heart and what it may one day ache to fawn over once more. So, like a child preserving her favorite wrappings on an early Christmas morning, I lift the tape and unfold the creases in the paper, remembering how I once boxed these contents and carefully put them away, only to unveil my thoughts now that are so deeply pressed with you. 

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Update.

Update.

I write, but here is the complete background as to why I write. The following is an honest reflection from the most major turning point in my life. It’s longer than I wish it was, but I believe many people will be able to relate, and nobody talks about this stuff, and that should change.

In college, I experienced a stage of depression that was only seen by me, alone, when my friends, professors, coaches, staff, anyone, was not around. I created a lonely world to carry in my shell of a body behind a smiling mask. It was caused by years of neglect to my mental health from loss and less than great luck, all out of my control.

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