I Box You
May 27, 2011; 12:40 AM
You’re this thing that I put in a box and hide under my bed together with the dust and a lost pair of sock. You disappear from plain sight and I trick myself into believing that you no longer exist.
But really, if I wanted you to stop existing, I could have just thrown you in a big can meters away from my pad that’s labeled “MALATA” on the day that biodegradable garbage would be collected. So yeah, in a way, I’m just hiding you under the bed because I know that from time to time, I’m gonna want to pull you out. Because really, how many times have it happened already when I’d lie down at night and all I could think about was that box under my bed.
I always fight off the urge to pull you out, you know. Yet at the same time, I don’t really want you to stop existing. It’s this masochistic game I play with myself.
I wanna have fun, oh wait, why not try to hide him somewhere I never want to find but know where to find!
If pointless had a big brother, then that is how you could describe what I’m trying to do here.
So okay, let’s say I decided to pull out that box, took you out and looked at you straight in the eye. What happens? I’d never have the courage to tell you anyway, and besides, even if I did, I can state 72 ways on how all of these could go really bad for me.
So eventually, I’d put you back in that box and slide you under the bed with a vow that I will never take you out again. But really, who am I kidding? You are still just under my bed.
Like I said, I could just as simply throw you in that big can labeled “MALATA” and let the garbage collectors take you away and bury you where you can rot with the rest of my neighbors biodegradable trash and forget you eventually because there’s nothing to pull back anymore. Yet I chose to have you near.
So stay there for a while. I’m comfortable having you there. If I had my way, I’d rather have you ON my bed rather than under it. But yeah, we both don’t know if you belong there too. So there.
