You find a box.
Just a regular box.
Sides all flawlessly square.
Corners at perfect 90-degree angles.
A box that really says, “This is a box.”
You open it up.
It opens soundlessly.
You take a peek inside.
Nothing.
There’s nothing in the box.
An endless well of nothing.
You tip the box upside-down.
Nothing after nothing comes pouring out.
It fills up the room.
It fills you.
Your corners are at perfect angles.
Sides flawlessly square.
A person that really says, “This is a person.”
You open yourself up.
You open effortlessly.
You take a peek inside.
Not that you needed to.
You already know what’s there.
A box.
Full of you.
Nothing.
By Sebastian Fletcher
