my box filled with the past, the box i created for myself, as if the memories burned into my brain aren't damaging enough. I collect, and collect. These are items that no normal human would collect. This box was much heavier than I expected it would be, probably because I try to block out a good majority of the memories that the items bring back. I see movie ticket stubs, empty pill bottles, hospital bracelets, journals, lyrics written on napkins, cd cases, crumpled loose leaf paper, directions written on the back of press on tattoos, etc. But, as I lay my fingers upon each item I feel this sudden, sickening energy. I begin to remember why these items should remain in a world separate from the one in which I currently reside. I simply can't bear being trapped in this box. I remember why I am out of my box.
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