The Box
By Maya Hughes
In my closet there is a box
All it does is collect dust
This box holds all my trust
I try not to think about it
I’m happiest when I forget
To leave behind all my regret
It’s been almost 2 years,
As my fingers close around it
I can feel my emotions fall in their endless pit
My tears were trying to escape
But i couldn’t let them leave
As I realized I had forgotten to breathe
Pulling the box open slowly,
The rush of the moths* within me stirred
It’s about time to be cured
Inside was a paper
The colors that once were bright
Had now faded, like trying to hide from sight
It was now I let the tears meet freedom
This painting that once seemed sweet,
Was so bitter, the feeling spreading from my head to my feet
I miss him, I really do
Two years following 10
I wish he could paint for me again
Author Notes: *moths instead of butterflies
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