Belonging

I own a cardboard box. Inside is an empty folder, a pen whose ink is near dry, a tennis ball and a piece of foam from the previous object in it before. It was an electric kettle.

I took the tennis ball and looked at the fraying felt, the curved white ribbons soiled from play and the feintly-inked brand name ''onyx''. I have already decided to throw the ball as far as I could but not before drawing a simple picture of a flower, a cat, Saturn with its rings, random doodles and swirls. The pen still has ink.

The ball is already gone. There are less things in the box now and a bit more.