11. V . 2007

It's been some time. I went near the old shelf in the attic. What the hell was I doing there anyway? Just being a curious cat hoping not to die. I'd say the chances were good since it was my attic. I thought I knew what was up there...well i didn't but at least i was convinced it was safe hah. I fumbled for my keys and picked one for the lock of the cabinet under the shelf. Dust..well I lived up to my messy image quite successfully. It's merry fucking Xmas every time i go up in this place, cause I find something so old i consider it "new". So the thing that caught my eye inside the cabinet was a splendid, shining bottle of scotch. Oh, what taste for alcohol for my grandmother to have! Too bad she died before I could thank her for all that. Strange enough another object drew me with greater power. A modest blue box, not exceptional in any way, not special in any way on the outside. A plain blue box. Medium sized. I snatched at it tightly and took it out. Huh..i thought it had a ribbon on. Must have been mistaking. I put it on an old table and opened it so delicately and with care as if it was going to turn into dust under my fingers any moment now. Inside were stuffed all kinds of peculiar objects, random as it seemed, just stored in the same place. There was a small pair of child-like woven gloves. A number printed on each finger -36,42,48,54,60 and x6 on the back of the palm. There were cards around. A small ring-like part I recognized to be a bearing with a plastic line tied to it. Somebody had stretched his straw pretty bad to turn it into a wire. There was a clump of hair. Everything was a piece taken from a moment passed, preserved in a place hidden away for times to come, not bothering anybody. I ask myself why do people do such melancholic and even sentimental rituals? Maybe they are running away from demons, easing the pain. Hah, they are sissies! Why can't they just bare it? Make it go away in a more dignifying way? I fumbled around the little treasures- there were greeting cards, letters, two insignificant pieces of paper. Guess what? They had poems scribed down on them! I realized..people had poured their hearts out, given their lives out and they had ended up cramped in a box, cause they were too heavy for somebody to watch, or were perhaps kept as a painful reminder to build one's will with. I find human emotions far not so priceless to be given away lightly. So whoever gave these things, written those beautiful words...he must have been shaken to the core to tear out a piece of himself in such a pointless gesture of sacrifice.
Well I am a big blind mouse! There was this jar in the middle of the box, i should have noticed it first! But it was all wrapped up in paper and tied with a cord. I tore it all up :) it had...oh, sweetness!
...
[The rest died away in silence with Hamlet]