We found it, and we don't need to unwrap it to see what's inside. Unwrapping it defeats the purpose of finding it... it's the expectation, see, that makes it special.
It's the kindled light in the mirror of not knowing, that it could be anything. Terrible or wonderful.
If you take off the ribbon, you'll know, and the anticipation is over until a new one is found.
What makes things special is the buildup. That's where the wonder lies, whole, clean, and your soap bubble pure and fragile. The perfection achieved?
When you touch a tremulous finger to the shine, you mar it. When you press your nose to the window, you streak it. But by standing back and not knowing if it's there, you believe it to be all and one.
When you finally have to remove the lid... do you wish you didn't, and had that eternal moment back again, or is the new reality, flawed and skewed, beautiful and perfect, what you cling to?
It's the kindled light in the mirror of not knowing, that it could be anything. Terrible or wonderful.
If you take off the ribbon, you'll know, and the anticipation is over until a new one is found.
What makes things special is the buildup. That's where the wonder lies, whole, clean, and your soap bubble pure and fragile. The perfection achieved?
When you touch a tremulous finger to the shine, you mar it. When you press your nose to the window, you streak it. But by standing back and not knowing if it's there, you believe it to be all and one.
When you finally have to remove the lid... do you wish you didn't, and had that eternal moment back again, or is the new reality, flawed and skewed, beautiful and perfect, what you cling to?
