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.Continue reading “A box, tucked away”