Boxed Poltergeists and Kisses

It came at dusk—
like the night itself had delivered it.
Not mailed. Not expected.
Just there,
wood whispering against the doorstep,
waiting for the right moment.

The air was thick—
wet with rain and the aftertaste of dreams.
Clouds folded in like bruised paper,
the sky churning with color.

A name—
carved into the lid,
each letter pressed deep enough to outlast time.
Not written. Not delicate.
Branded—
as if to say:
some things never fade.

Fingertips brushed the surface,
feeling for an echo,
for the warmth of hands long gone.
The grain thrummed under touch,
and for a fleeting second,
it almost felt alive.

Cedar and memory filled the air—
the scent of old paper,
of something once treasured.

The lid lifted,
hesitation hanging in the space between,
as if whatever lay inside
might whisper back.

Instead—chocolate.
Hershey’s Kisses, wrapped in gold and silver,
deliberate, waiting,
a sweetness meant to last.

Beneath them,
scraps of paper,
folded like quiet confessions,
creased from being read too many times.

Ink pressed into every line,
steady, careful, aching.
“It is better to have loved and lost…”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder…”
“If you love something, set it free…”

Not just borrowed words.
Something more.
Something that reached out
and refused to let go.

A Kiss was unwrapped,
held between teeth like a thought,
melting slow, dissolving
into something both bitter and sweet.

The box sat heavy in my lap,
its presence undeniable.

The papers shifted, almost expectant,
as if hands had only just let them go.

And then—presence.
Not in sight. Not in sound.
But there.

The room stilled.
Shadows leaned in, familiar,
like something once known.

Sitting there,
hands curled around the quiet weight,
as if stillness could hold time in place
for just a little longer.

But the past doesn’t wait.
It doesn’t ask permission to linger.

The lid closed,
hands steady,
but something in the air unchanged.

The box remained.
It always remains. A longing carved into wood,
a love letter that lingers,
a memory wrapped in silver