The wardrobe smells like old age. But not just old things, the best kind of old things. It smells like that ancient box you’re mother keeps in the back of that wardrobe. That box so old, full of secrets. Your mother always says it is never to be opened, under any circumstances. Your father says the same thing. But how can you resist? But when you throw open the lid, you don’t find a secret treasure. Instead, there are scars, and tears. There is a pile of unpleasant memories underneath the blank, unused diary. While the box used to seem ancient and wise, now it is too ancient, too wise. It knows things no one should know. It used to hold the promise of whispered secrets, now you see it holds the truth behind whispered lies. You close the box and stagger as far away from it as you can. Why would anyone have such a thing? Why would you open it? You shouldn’t have. But you did, and for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. That warm, sunny day when you opened that ancient box gets filed away in your mind as an ugly memory. But it’s still not a memory you want to get rid of. Because, guess what? That box stayed with you the rest of your life. It stayed with you every day, and although it was dark and terrifying, it made you wiser, older, stronger. It made you a better person. So years later, when you are happy, and settled, you have a family and a loving partner. Your children come up to you one day and ask you about that strange wooden box you keep underneath your bed. They ask what’s in it, and all you do is smile sadly and say, “It is never to be opened, under any circumstances.”