Thursday, November 10, 2005


I live in a box. My own box. Wrapped up in my own worries like cushy blankets to keep me familiarly comfortable. But never completely comfortable. The blanket is unfinished; I keep losing the needle.

Sometimes I sit on that needle, and the sharp stinging pain reminds me that I am selfish.

Lately, I've learned something new. On the days that I find the needle stuck in my foot or backside, I draw it out of my skin, and use it to poke holes in the walls of my box.

At first the pinhole of light hurt my eyes. And I would duck under my blanket. But then I became accustomed to the hazy hue of my box.

Soon I became curious, thus poking more holes. I spread them out in patterns. Tiny shafts of light infiltrated my world. It reminds me of a starry sky.

Then I tried something new. I tried looking out of one of these tiny holes. Funny how the eyes work. No matter how small the hole, your eyes can narrow their focus and actually see through.

I still can't see the big picture. My blanket lures me away from poking holes in the walls of my box quite often, but it isn't as fluffy as I had first thought and I am determined to keep track of that needle.



Post a Comment

<< Home