The Box
A metaphor for all the the things we put away before we are ready.
The box sits in the corner, Folded up, idle, forgotten. Built to contain, sturdy in build, Yet there is only one purpose And that comes around Only once in a while. Until then, it stands invisible. When needed, it becomes the centre, The most important foundation. It is made with care, reinforced Filled to the brim, Sentimental bric-a-brac That one deems necessary, Or old memories That one wishes to chase away. Yes, it is used to say "Farewell", Goodbye to the past, hello to the future. To clear out, make space for the new, The shiny, the other side. And like that its job is done. Dismantled, taken apart As if it never existed. Stuffed in a corner, Full of objects that have No place to call home. And it waits For the chance To be useful Again.
Huhui,
I love how you’ve taken something as simple, even utilitarian, as a box and turned it into a quiet, melancholic reflection — how often we only reach for what we need when we need it, and forget it in the pauses between.
For me, it feels like a soft echo of relationships — the way we’re sometimes called upon to hold, to steady, to patch the corners with a bit of tape — and then folded away again, waiting to be visible.
There’s something in that quiet waiting that feels so human — that longing to be noticed, not just when the time is right, but because we were always there.
Makes me wonder, if there were one thing you could leave in the box to keep it company — an object, an emotion, a memory — what would it be?
A beautiful piece of writing.
Beautiful. I love how you gave the box a soul. ❤️