You want to hold on to this perfect little box of chocolates you thought was delicious. You keep it on your lap and clean it and cherish it and protect it from being crushed and your little shiny box of exquisite chocolates has been melting in your lap.
But no one sees the inside; with the chocolates all fused together and the gooey insides spilling around and leaking through the gold lined tissue.
My box is frayed and crumpled and dusty, yet inside, the cheap little chocolates are perfectly in place, all fitting in their tiny little sections, still intact and ready to enjoy.
But my box on the outside doesn’t fit into the image you want everyone else to see. So you want me to throw out my box and not let anyone see. Because it doesn’t look right.
I can still open my dirty little crumpled box of chocolates, and perfectly lift out a delicious morsel of unassuming chocolate, and not get my fingers dirty, no matter what the box on the outside looks like.
When you open your perfectly adorned box, you can’t distinguish one piece from the other, they are melted together and stick to your fingers and fill your lap with sticky left- overs.
And yet, I lift the crumpled lid off my box and offer them to you. Chose your favorite one, as many as you like, take your time and pick what you think you will most enjoy. And even though they won’t stick to your hands, I will wipe away the tiniest bit of chocolate that might stick to your fingers.
And you turn away, and clutch your own pretty, neat, clean, perfectly straight box even tighter to your chest.
And the melted chocolate inside your box, drips down the seams and spills on your shirt and stains your tie. But no one saw that except me and my outstretched hand with my dirty little cheap box of chocolates that you refuse to enjoy because everyone else can see that I’m offering you the box that doesn’t look right.
And you hide the stained tie, and proudly show off your neat little box and block my box from view.
And nobody knows it but me.
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