I am sitting in a box, wishing I could get out. The walls are filled with gang graffiti, the paint is chipped, and there are spiders in the corners of the roof of the box. There is a window that I do not look out of because it only makes you more depressed to see a place you cannot reach—a wall, the thick glass, and more boxes with fences. An inescapable box, and I hate living in this box.

I take small steps toward a door that is sealed and rarely opens. Two small windows only face the cages inside the whole box I live in. I see outside, and I wish so badly I could leave, only to be left inside this box, preserved as if I were a type of food to be eaten later.

So sad. This box is so sad that I look up and wish there was so much more than this box. If I could just feel the fresh air upon my face and breathe—sigh! The box is suffocating. The box of infinite solitude. Inside this box, I am alone. Inside, it hurts so much that there is no way out. Looking at the ceiling, wishing upon stars I cannot see, wishing the door would magically open. My imagination runs at full speed—the sun, the air, a friend, warmth—only to open my eyes and realize I am still in the box.

I sit down, run my fingers through my hair, and close my eyes. I wish not to see anymore. Sleep—escape this box. I lay down. Sleep does not come, and only small breaths are taken as I lie, trying to forget about the box I live in. My heart is pounding. I count the beats. I feel tired and alone. The box—I hate this box.

I stand up, sit back down, lost, indecisive. I walk back to the door. A person—my hands are placed on the windows of the door. Maybe one day I could walk freely, just like that person.Wishes. Wishes upon stars I cannot see. My head drops, and I turn around, look up at the ceiling. Once more. The box is silent. The box—I hate the box. The box is boxing me in. The box makes me sad. This box makes me feel like an animal in a zoo. This box hurts.

If this door could open, if someone could help me… My back is against the wall. I slide down slowly, ease myself onto the floor, bring my knees up to my head, and just fold myself up into a triangle. Breathing, eyes closed, my thoughts, myself included, are lost inside a box. Left behind as if no one knows I am here. My wishes are left far behind, flowing with the wind away from me. My hope is the only thing that keeps me breathing inside this box. My eyes open, only to see I’m still inside a box. Lost, hidden, and forgotten…