Sofia did not forget the little blue box as she packed. She was a girl of a very distracted nature and a soul so poorly connected to the real world that her existence wandered through watercolored airs. And it was not by chance that when she left her father’s house she abandoned furniture, drapes, and pans but not the little box; no, that she would not leave behind. That small object was one of the few things which connected her to reality and reminded her of still existing.
Always kept at the bottom of the closet, the little cardboard box was of the lightest blue now faded for the action of years. Golden arabesques of smooth emboss were painted on its lid and sides. Time had worked to erase the decorations and the box presented grooves here and there now. As a child, Sofia liked to run the tip of her fingers over the surface of the box, with her eyes closed, drawing in her mind the shapes she touched. She could no longer remember from whom she had received the gift or even remember if there was a gift in there once. But, since always, the little box was her favorite toy. Sofia was fascinated by such a fragile blue, that kind of blue one can only see sometimes in summer afternoons when the sky forgets to darken and the light allows itself to stay.
On the inside, the box was covered with white paper, smooth and soft, already aged and yellowish. From the inside one did not take anything: there was only the box, the outside and the inside. However, Sofia did not think of it as a mere empty box. When she was little, she would wander through the house with the small blue box, her footsteps sounding weightless on the corridors. She and her toy were inseparable. And if anyone asked her what was inside that box, she would answer with simplicity: ‘Dreams’.
When she arrived to that city which would now be her new home, Sofia took, alongside with the box, the little of herself she had. She decided not to keep the box in the closet anymore: it would stay beside her bed so she could take a good dream from it before sleep and give it back after waking up. As time passed, Sofia dreamed more and more her childhood dreams; she lost herself in fantasies where she was a gypsy, a pirate or a swordfighter. She felt reluctant of putting her dreams back into the little box in the mornings – she wanted them awaken, for if she had never loved anyone due to her evasive spirit, in her dreams she reached a tasteful coherence which she would hungrily devour.
But it was when she crossed the street in an autumnal afternoon that Sofia looked to a figure of a young man standing on the sidewalk without actually seeing him. She did not really notice him until he stood in her way: Sofia saw then a pair of brown shoes, black trousers and a white shirt. He was a man of strong features and honest smile, and his skin was made golden by the sun. He looked at her with eyes of an old lover. And Sofia forgot everything when she saw herself in front of those eyes of light sky, that fainting blue she could never name, so familiar and dear. She loved him then, and forgot her box of kept dreams. She wanted now to dream the dreams of that Other, to live his fantasies and desires. She would keep in his heart her hopes and reveries, and would unite, finally and forever, to another soul in this world.
a small short-story which was born the other day
hope u like it
feedback is appreciated 😉