📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
In my Primary Five class was a boy
named Boon.
Who stored goodbyes
In a box.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
He brought it to school —
Glass —
And filled it with coloured notes
When someone left.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
We found it strange.
I laughed with others
At him
Louder than needed.
But I once asked –“Why glass?”
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
“Because cardboard tears.
Forgets.
Glass recalls. Even when
it cracks.”
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
When our teacher died
He filled the box
So full it made
His desk
Sink.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
When Jia Le transferred schools,
He wrote “See you soon”
And sealed it — it meant something
to him.
He wanted to recall people
And their steps.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
Their voices.
Their hugs.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
But one day,
He left too.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
No box.
No note
Just his empty seat
And blank coloured paper.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
Time went on.
My father passed.
I stood by his bed
With a swallowed goodbye.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
Then I thought of Boon
And how he gave Sorrow
A proper seat
The way we do
For people.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
He wasn’t odd.
He just knew what it meant
To remember.
📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦📦
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights on! ☕Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 