Little black box.

I haven't written in ages, and it's quite alright with everything that goes on in this crazy ass world of ours. My box has been filling up, rapidly. Everything has been changing, OH! how i hate it. I have no idea what is going on anymore. I can't cheat myself out of being young, but it's almost to much to handle. My box is telling me to slow down, and remember to breath. The items in my box are of great significance, old tickets, torn up notes, faded pictures, they all mean the world to me. I don't think i could ever love anyone or anything more than that box. The little black box that sits in the back of my closet has secrets. The little black box in the back of my closet is filled to the brim with stories. The little black box in the back of my closet is my life.