Some of us will come out of this box different.
At least that’s how I imagine.
Abrupt speed breakers, detours and dead ends.
That make up our new Boxed lives.
Though temporary.
But for now stories have stopped writing themselves because we’ve lost the illusion of control.
Where uncertainty is the new black.
So when it’s time for Unboxing.
When it’s time to return to this world.
Where we run.
From what we’re afraid of.
Where we run.
From what we’re made of.
I imagine something will have changed.
One neurone there.
One neurone here.
A collective burial of old ways of ingratitude.
Towards new waves, in unison
For deep within our blood is this mastery.
Of much good.
Of much bad.
So when unboxed.
With a swift pull and tear.
With a silent annihilation.
I imagine.
I’ll squeeze my lids, to adjust vision.
Hoping to see the old with new eyes.
Hoping to see the new with old eyes.
But then I fear I’ll see
That nothing changed.
Not in here.
Not out there.
And then.
I’ll take a huge breath in, fill up those lungs, and start where I left off….
Like last night’s chess game abandoned midway…
I’ll get back in there.
Find my spot.
In that old box.
Anxious to run again.
From what I’m afraid of.
From what I’m made of.