The Box

I keep a box, its not like any other box, but any other person would think it's the same old box disturbed people keep with them, simply because it has a huge two scratched on the bottom.

Inside this box of mine I keep stories,  from stories of days I spent endlessly coughing in the hospital reception, to rainy days I spent writing about my visit to the country where I met a young girl of only sixteen.
See I wasn't sure whether she was part of my subconscious dream that started while driving here and I was dodging obstacles until we made it to the traffic light before the last turn to our destination

She had large dreamy brown eyes and was rather fully-fleshed, wavy dark hair and full, heavy lips. I hadn't seen perfection this close before and I was left in awe as she smiled at me, her smile breaking her face into cute little dimples which gave me chills of nervousness and a slight trickle of excitement.

I can't recollect memories of what exactly happened after that, its said that I had a blackout, epilepsy so its called by the do rights.
Next morning I woke up to a silent prattle which got louder when the smell of coffee and cold of the morning invaded my being.

I had found myself a sugar maple away from the center of town, and I had made acquaintance to it with a very disturbingly intimate hug, I spent the day there alone until I saw her walking over to me, I jumped up and very nervously said 'Hi I'm billy', 'nice to meet you billy, this is Basel' by this I knew she had heard me talking to the tree and that she was intending to shoo me away from her place of rest, away from the center of town. But instead, she invited me to sit with her and she told me her story and why she had a box with a huge two scratched on the bottom.