tiny boxes

I saw it. I saw your real smile the other day. I haven’t seen it in many, many months, maybe even a year… or two. You were three feet away and yet a million miles away from me and looking at your phone. I think you were texting with her. Or maybe you were looking at a baby elephant gif. Either way, it wasn’t for me or your son.

But I still saw it. That smile. And I tried to remember the last time, the last moment it was directed at me. Or our son.

I couldn’t.

Then I stretched my memory way, way back, into the corners of my mind. And I found it. Your smile, my smile, our moment.

It was then that something poked through the lava of my anger. This fragile, tiny box made its way to the front, the top of my swirling emotions. The contents of that tiny, fragile box are some of the good things. The happiness and (faux) love that I miss. And I haven’t been able to bring myself to open it and look inside. To open it and feel the softness and the brightness. The mere thought of it all has brought me to tears. I can’t imagine the devastation I would experience if I opened it all up.

I’ve held that box for a little while. I have let myself feel its weight, it’s purpose. But I feel the danger such a tiny box holds. The mere thought of it all has brought me to tears. I can’t imagine the devastation I would experience if I opened it up. I decided to let go of it tonight, and I watched it slowly sinking into the deep lava of my unforgiving anger and wondered if I would ever come across it again. I decided I was okay if it disappeared forever. I am okay if you and your stupid smile disappear forever, too.