We’ll cross that bridge when it comes

And when it does, I take the river

Wet stones beneath my feet

I act suprised when I fall

It hurts to look back on what I have done

The mistakes made make me bitter

Instead of fighting I flee

I could have had it all

I want to forget my downfall

Because the parts that repeat

Force me to reconsider:

Have my efforts come undone?

If people never change, no one

...

“My moms attic; she said she didn’t need the box I found it in, figured I’d sell it”, you say.

You can’t see it’s eyes, but by the unmoving silhouette you sense frustration in it’s shock.

“Do you even know what this is?”, the figure asks.

You shrug, “can’t say I do”.

“This is pristine, vintage, cardboard. When this was first produced it went for pennies, but after trees went extinct they no...