#infjthoughts

It’s getting warm and I finally wake up. These days, there’s nothing worth getting up early for. I keep my eyes closed for as long as possible, delaying the start to another day. 

My skin feels dry and once again I berate myself for not finding appropriate shelter the night before. What kind of survivor am I? How do I deserve to be here still? 

Blinking rapidly, I finally begin to focus on my surroundings. Dry. Everywhere. What I’d give for  a day of rain- to tilt my head up and let the cool drops run down my face. My limbs wake and the skin cracks, protesting my movements. That’s when the panic sets in. 

I can hear the blood pulsing through my ears as my hands search the ground around me, the sand embedding itself under my nails. Finally, the cardboard box is in my hands. I turn it around, checking the tape that binds it. It peels back dangerously, but somehow there’s enough of it after all these years to keep it shut. I dust the sand and debris off the pieces of tape that hang loosely, but I know it’s hopeless. 

A feeling of calm washes over me once the box is securely in my arms. I stand up and stare across the vast area of desert that stretches ahead of me. How long has it been? Months... Perhaps even years, that I’ve been searching. It’s been so long that I struggle to recall the meaning of this journey. 

All I know is this box somehow means I’m chosen. It’s my responsibility. It’s been my trophy and my burden for as far back as I can remember. The magnitude of it’s importance was lost to me at that age, but now I can’t imagine my existence without it. I protect it fiercely and, thankfully, there has never come a time when I’ve felt compelled to open it. 

Its contents have the power to change everything, even life as I know it. But what does that mean? I’ve laid in bed at night cursing the box and the secrets it holds, but I’ve never been brave enough to rip the tape and feast my tired mind upon what has been revealed. 

As I begin my journey for the day, I begin to wonder; is it fear that stops me from opening it? Because recently a new nightmare has been invading my sleep. It fills my mind like a cloud of ink and I find I can’t escape it. 

Throwing the box on the ground, I come down upon it hungrily. Impatiently ripping at the tape, pulling at the frayed edges of the cardboard box. In my haste, the box nearly rips in two and I look at down. My eyes dart from the dusty interior of the box, to the sand and back up again. My heart races and the blood drains from my face as the realization dawns on me. 

It’s empty.

And sometimes when I startle awake, I stare at the box. Still sealed, still with the grainy packing tape twitching in the breeze. And I pick it up 

Selfish person you have ever met

To want to have you all for myself

To wish i could glue your flesh to mine

In a metaphorical way, i promise.

I swear to be devoted

But oh how I’ve noticed

That is not what you desire

Your love must be tired

From all this back and forth

I head south

You head north.

Darling,

Can’t we just meet in the middle?