Paradoxical as this might sound, You lose yourself and let yourself off the ground.
But no matter how grounded you try to be , “you” are nowhere to be found.
Imagine a big box.
When you’re in it time stops. No clocks.
There’s a world for you to create.
You can skate, slate, mate.
In your hands is your own fate.
One day a wanderer finds the box.
Cold winter. He wore a pair of black socks.
Tired of everything , he wanted to rest.
Where else could he find comfort than the big box itself.
He gave up on reality for this dreamy world.
For days inside his “new home” he twirled and curled.
The thought of going back out to face the world, he blocked.
Fear of catching up with reality kept him locked.
Sooner or later he had to wake up and realize it was a BIG BOX paradox.
Inside it, he thought out of the box.
He was a lost wanderer who wanted to be found.
On a journey to find himself , he lost and in his own thoughts, he drowned.
The thin line between fantasy and reality seemed to fade.
He seemed vulnerable. His mind, as sharp as a blade.
The big box could fit him but wasn’t enough to fill his emptiness.
There came a time in the no time zone when he felt suffocated and breathless.
As tempting as the box sounded, it was time for him to be unbounded.
The big box, though comforting wasn’t the right place.
The big world, though tormenting was to be chased.
He gathered courage to open the box and let the light in.
It was time he pulled up his wearied socks and live a worthy life even if it meant committing a sin.
No wonder it made him uncomfortable,
But he had to learn to be adaptable.
Because being himself in this chaotic world mattered more
Than “being with himself” behind a locked door.
The nostalgic insomniac 