This could have been any box, for anything. It could have been a box that something big and interesting came in, or something uninteresting was traveling through the donation circuit in. This could be a shoe box, or a refrigerator box. It may have been the box I moved into my first apartment in, into my first house, away to a temporary home, back to my house, whatever it was, it was something that could contain whatever I needed it to.
My cardboard box is now empty.
In my heart-shaped cardboard box was very specific feelings. They were filled with unconditional love for someone who has been a toxic person to me. They were unwavering feelings of love, no matter what the circumstances, positive or negative. They were happy feelings, and sad feelings. But they were little bits of love, both easy and tough. He wasn't always a toxic person. But he decided that my love wasn't enough. That there is greener grass. And that the fake landscapes ahead of him were more beautiful than the grass trying to grow all around him.
He shot a hole in my heart-shaped box and all of the love is pouring out of it. I have tried my best for so long to try to keep at least the happy feelings and memories alive, but they are fading away so quickly. He refused to even acknowledge that there were good times between us before. That there could even be good times again. He said I was nothing to him. That he hopes he never has to see me ever again when this is all over. That I was cancer. That my eradication from his life was the best treatment option. That I deserve to live a life unloved. Because who would want to love someone like me?
That I should go somewhere far away from him. And be alone and pitiful, and realize how not-so-great of a human being I supposedly am.
And live in a cardboard box.
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