Breaking the Box

You know not what you have asked,
I think as I sit in front of that box,
my hands slide over the antique leather
feeling the aged cracks, I’ve packed it
well with memories, those I couldn’t
face, the ones that were eating through me,
the things that are hard to say in the light,
that find a way to bleed through bandages
at two am when I am alone.

I finger the brass lock, flirting with it,
the idea of chasing after you, down
that darkened road, I feel your thunder
rumbling the floor, I see your lightning
flashing through the panes, ride the skies
you whisper, wanting me to let go.

A tear glides down my face,
I feel a little darker now, a little
seeping now, because this box
doesn’t exist, I only tell myself
it does, I only grasp at control,
its so easy to flip, so easy to slip,
so easy to let go, and for you -
I would peel back my fingers
from the ledge as you jump
through your window, and we
would fall and fall and fall together.