The little Red Box of Dreams stood solid and sturdy, albeit dirty, in the center of my living room, its dust and dirt and paint chips hogging up altogether too much space upon its surface. The door to the box stood tall and open, as though beckoning more dreams to wander their way into the box's fold. But the file folders within, decades old, remained empty, a musty reminder that I have taken my dreams out of the box and have lived a life thus far I never imagined.
My little Red Box of Dreams,...
Published on December 27, 2013 12:26