Little

I have a jar. In that jar I put all of the little things. The things that don’t matter. The troublesome things. The things I’ll handle later. I put them in the jar and screw the lid so tight that my palms ache.

One day, I had more things to put in the jar. The lid was so tight. I fought with it. I struggled and cursed until finally, the jar was open. But all of the little things spilled out as one. The large, bubbling mass seemed abhorrently large. It grew larger and larger until it swallowed me.

Now I am a little thing.