Inside my box why see this one? Everyone's boxes are better than mine. I don't know what's inside my box, but I know it's not chocolates. It could be a girl surrounded by old red bricks in a room with no windows, no wind, no light, no air, but full of loneliness and despair. Those brown boots she used to wear wore out. She doesn't want to put them on again because she worries about the judgement from others that'll haunt her and her self-esteem. Some words cut through her like a knife cutting butter. Maybe this girl doesn't have a motto or a saying of her own since she doesn't say much or keeps it a secret.

This girl might love oranges for their sweet taste or their bright color or because it's the only fruit in the fridge left to eat since this box belongs on the other side of the tracks. Others may assume that she's a quiet person since they'd probably not recognize her anywhere else. Some say she's crazy but in a good way. However, that could be a front or a cover up, as though she's acting on stage but won't reveal the curtains behind her. An unsolved mystery left in a cold case. A victim without a murderer.

She might be happy but trapped from society. She stays here, with the cutting words, reminiscing on the future and wearing out one day at a time as a leaf falls from a tree without a replacement. In that shallow room, inside this box. But hey, who knows what's inside my box. What I think is inside my box...is a mirror.