Shoe box

There’s  a shoe box under my bed.

It’s a nondescript one. This is the latest one in the line of shoe boxes which have found residence in my house time and again. Some claimed the bottom shelf of my cupboard while a few others usually loved snuggling up in the drawer of my bedside table. This one however, like the very first one, has grown used to the darkness under my bed.

There’s a shoe box under my bed.

I can’t make out the brand of shoe that it carried inside. Also, I do not remember since it’s been ages since I bought any shoe. The colour under all that dust seems to be a red of some sort. The frayed edges, threatening to fall apart at a moment’s notice, remind me it’s time to find a new home for what’s within.

There’s a shoe box under my bed.

It holds an assorted list of things. There’s bound to be an old pressed flower, barely distinguishable. Some yellowed pages torn from notebooks, a few tickets with their print long gone, a clear packet full of candles/ pencils or even stones, a promise ring, torn photographs, weirdly shaped pebbles. A few cards and gift wrapping papers must have made the cut as well.  They remind me of times gone by. Of loves lost through years, friends forgotten between the lines of gossip, acquaintances left behind. Memories… of all things good and all things painful.

There’s a shoe box under my bed.

Though it seems to be quite old, it is definitely not the one I started with. Over the years, the box kept changing and the memories inside; kept growing! Never thrown, never replaced… they just grew. Carted from one home to another… Sometimes kept under lock and key to escape prying eyes and sometimes displayed on my desk with aplomb.

There’s a shoe box under my bed.

Covered in dust, it patiently awaits to be held once again. To be cleaned while I ruffle through the contents one more time. Sifting through the letters dad wrote to me in my first year away from home, the recipes I scribbled while talking to mom over the phone, the “legal” documents and agreements my brother and I signed to decide the video game playing times, the chits I passed during mind numbing lectures, the first valentine card i received anonymously, the photos of my first crush with the head torn off, the print outs of the first message my true love sent me, the plane tickets from when I flew down for my marriage, the broken shard of my favorite mug which I threw in a fit of rage… the list doesn’t end.

There’s a shoe box under my bed.

It hold many things. Each of them has a different story to tell. Each of them takes me back to relive a different memory. Each of them has led me here… had made me who I am… has been my companion…

Each of them reminds of something happy, sad, exciting and even painful… There’s a shoe box under my bed and it has a life of its own.


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