"You opened the door to a package.
A package with the word "Fragile" on top.
You brought it in, put it on the table and kept it there. In the sun. Warm.
When you got back after a long day of work, the package was on the table still. You moved it to the floor so you could have a long awaited dinner.
After eating you soon forgot about the package, and it was left there. Cold.
The next morning you go back towards the table and see the package only after almost tripping over it. You get angry and throw it to the couch. Tend to your hurt foot and go back to work for the second day.
You came home that night and went straight to bed. Forgetting the package that had been thrown on the couch. The third morning came, you went downstairs to a much needed "day off". You decide to relax... maybe watch some t.v. , but then something catches your eye. The package.
Your curiousity is now full throttle and you open the package that was hot,cold, thrown about, and forgotten.
You stab into the box, not bothering to remember the "Fragile" sign on the top. You get inside and rip open the bubble wrap. Inside that was a small box with a red ribbon. You stop and think to yourself "With all of that protecting it, why would they mark it fragile?"... Inside it was nothing. Not one single thing.
You look around completely dumbfounded, wondering why this was sent to you or what it even meant.
As I watched you from the window.... I knew that I was right to have left you."
Adorei adorei adorei. Há pessoas que escrevem imagens!
E porque hoje não me sinto muito bem, sinto-me exactamente assim, Frágil, deixo o texto a fermentar e a gerar conclusões na cabeça de quem o ler - sim que eu sei que vai gerar qualquer coisa mesmo.