i placed the little box in the center of the room, and i waited there, watching the stares and questioning glances as i positioned myself a foot or two from the plain folded cardboard that seemed to draw everyone so. it was in that moment that i realized i could do this, that i could build expectations, an air of mystery, around simple nothings, or, as the case might be, everythings. that was what i kept in my little box, or at least what i would tell any little human curious enough to inquire.

everything, it fit into my little box and i'd whisper it, with that look, the one everyone seemed to recognize now. sometimes, i'd let myself sink and there would be overwhelming hurt in my intent stare. once, i watched a woman lower her eyes, look anything but casually away from mine, perhaps afraid it might be passed on as such, visually, silently.

sometimes, though, if i could see it, hear it.. truth, if there was a sense of compassion in a questioning glance or simple words, i would say that i placed my fear, pain, torment into that little box. and, i'd go on.. i placed it there, in the middle of the floor, because for the brief moments i could let it sit, out of my thoughts and away, i felt so terribly alive. terribly, they'd wonder and some still.. well, they would quickly wander off and i knew they did not want to know anymore. i once entertained questions from an elderly gentleman with a slight limp (at least, it appeared he had some trouble with the order in which one foot would find its way past the other, not so much a limp, i would suppose). he would laugh when i cried and when i could truly smile, the tears flowed from his old tired eyes so beautifully.

i created it for them and not for me, it was never for me.. the peculiar nature of the little box and the placement, always in the center, its hidden secrets. i built it because only in mystery do i find real hope, true interest in this thing that occupies most all of my time, this life.