The Box

by Shadow Night


I might make a story out of this I dunno, but it's just a feeling/thought that I had...

   Most people think that I'm an introvert, or just, plain antisocial. However it's not true. I just, all the time sometimes find myself looking out, or depending on my mood, looking in through a clear glass box. Sometimes I reach out, forgetting that the cool, unforgiving glass is there, because it's just so clear. On occasion, for some weird reason, some people can go through the glass, or just plain break it. For those people who do decide to break it, I cherish, because they care for me no matter what happens, and they're not afraid to accidently get cut by the broken glass.

  The reason I'm in this box is because, I'm like a tree. I'm welcome, only if I give something to you, but I don't like to waste my time or money, just for you to throw away. I only do it for the people who just appreciate me, like artists painting a tree. Not only that, but there's this silver fire in me, unlike the rest who have red, or orange flames. I'm not common, I don't like using social media, or gossip, and I prefer the oldies. Because I'm so different and adaptable that I'm refreshing like a cold cup of water.

  Mabey, I need to break the glass, so I can find a place in the image, and have those sparkly, happy moments more often. Then again...this glass is the only thing protecting me, from sadness, disappointments, bad critics, haters, and players. Even though this box is protecting me, is it protecting me from my thoughts? Is it protecting me from the created melancholy of being in this box?

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