A curious mind cuts the tape on a dust covered box
Hands grasping at memories, that which was lost to the tale of time
Fate plucks something out of the box,
A cassette tape.
He listens to the naive voice of his younger self
He smiles, a fragile, nostalgic thing
And then he hears them,
The shadows that used to haunt the corners of his vision
The monsters that used to lay under his bed and outside of his locked door
His hands grasp for something from now, a piece of the new reality he's created
But all he can feel is dust.
He is not who is used to be
He is no longer scared
He is strong and smiles wide and easily
His voice is steady now and never breaks
His hands don't shake,
His scars are healed
He is different.
But deep in the back of his mind he knows that he is not all that different,
He still locks his doors at night
And flinches at loud noises.
Boxes are sealed shut, and shoved in the back of closets for a reason.
They are filled with little but skeletons and dust.
Open at your own risk.