Boxes Are My Friends

I like boxes. Boxes are my friends. It pains me dearly to every dispose of a box, unless it no longer is capable of holding its shape or its cargo.

I even like empty boxes. I store them under my desk at work. I stack them one inside another and pile them in my garage at home.

Empty boxes are the ultimate in the "you never know" mentality. You never know if you might need a box just that size tomorrow, next week, next month. It could be for anything. Containing a stack of loose-leaf paper for delivery, carrying some food to a potluck, storing mementos for long periods, or disguising a Mothers Day or Christmas present.

Empty boxes are beautiful in their universial usefulness.

I'm a bit of a pack rat, so throwing anything away can be difficult for me, but oftentimes the object in question has no merit. It has no purpose in life, other than a tenuous connection to a memory of days gone past.

Boxes, though, are all about the future. They will become useful and necessary in your future. You will need a box sometime soon.

And so I collect them, waiting for that day.

Don't worry, little cardboard box. Your day will come. Your day will come.