Out of box thinking

At home I have a box of clothes that I haven’t opened in a year, maybe two. I put them there because I had no place to put them. I can’t remember what’s in it, but I’ll crack it open and see what’s there.

I could put my feelings, my heart, in a box, never to be touched, unwanted, forgotten, left to gather dust. Could, but I won’t. My heart works best outside of that box. This is something I must always remember.

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