The Box

where are you?
i am in this box.
it's called london.
most often than not it's exciting and huge
and mysterious
and filthy in a good way.

can you see me?
i think the sides are transparent. take a peek.

i know-
why don't you knock on one of my sides?
go on. i'll hear you.
knock.

what?
why can't you knock?
you're too far?
yeah. you might just be.
shame.

anyway, how have you been?
how is life outside the box?
oh. you have a box of your own?
oh, that's why you can't knock on my box!
that's funny.
and sad.

i wish that my box were walk-through.
so i can walk through.
duh.

you know, i could stop for a visit, we'd have a chat,
cup of coffee, that sort of thing.
we'd talk a while, look at each other's face.
yeah.
we could maybe,
just maybe,
be able to touch each other too.
that would be awesome.
i've no idea what that's like.
a box is a box.
you know what i mean?

so yeah, this is the box.
now that i think about it,
i don't think it's transparent at all.
i think it's reflective.
it reflects everything around it and is, hence, invisible!
ta-da!
aren't you proud of me for figuring that out?

you know what?
i would really like for you to be interested in my box.
it's a good box. solid. reliable.
keeps me sane.
has a bed, coffee machine, the works.
has me.
you don't have to get in the box to be interested in the box.

cause, you know, the box is alright and stuff
but,
like,
it's windowless.

and you're the only one who knows where the switch is.

so please turn it on.
it's getting dark.