My family like most others believes in living in a clean house
So we try our best to keep it clean
We scrub the flat surfaces, the tables, the kitchen counter tops
And always make sure that the guest room is extra neat
I've always loved the idea of 'A place for everything and everything in its place'
So when we tend to find things, clutter on our table and kitchen counter tops that doesn't belong
We shove it inside drawers and cabinets till they're full to the brim
Till the point where we have to pull on them one -two- three -four and five times to just wedge them open
Not that we open them too often, not at all
But you know, I had to say it.
So once we're done with cleaning all the surfaces and shoving all our mistakes inside of fragile wooden boxes
Inevitably. So it happens,call it human tendency or just plain stupidness
The fact that we misplace things. That for the life of us we just can't remember where we kept that one important business card
That one notebook with the answer to that question
That one pair of earrings you can't live without
But The surfaces have no story to tell so you get your hands dirty overturning all the transient boxes you inherit
You rip them from the places they're fixed in -impatient, violent you can almost hear the heart rate dipping slowly, slowly, and it's gone now.
A line on a monitor, another line on a monitor
Gather them together to form another one of the boxes you turn upside down to find what you lost
Run your hands along the wooden side, somehow squeezing your hand in between only to feel the sting of a splinter pierce your hand and that's your memory
There are too many full-empty boxes to search in this full-empty space
Sometimes it can stop my family
But mostly it doesn't. Full and empty, empty and full boxes somehow always have space to fit your hand in and spill the universe out onto the spotless surface
Tainting it with their stars which burn more than they shine
A smattering of blackholes which pull at the edges of your vision and your mind until all that's left is, is a full-empty feeling
That's the thing about these empty boxes
Is that we open them to find ghost memories too often.