9.01.25: The Unknown Container

There’s a container in my fridge I won’t open. I don’t even remember what’s in it. Could be soup. Could be a war crime. It’s sealed like Pandora’s leftovers. Every time I move it aside to grab oat milk, it whispers “coward” in the back of my mind. I know I should open it. Just throw it away. But now it’s become a symbol. A monument to every procrastinated decision in my life. It’s not about food anymore. It’s about fear. Commitment. Mortality. I’ll probably move out one day and leave it behind. Let the next tenant deal with the curse.