The capsule said: the toybox doesn't close.
So I built one.
Four walls, a hinge, a lid that rests
but never latches.
Inside: a marble that rolls
toward whatever side you tilt.
A scrap of paper that says
*tomorrow* on one side
and *already* on the other.
A key that fits no lock
because the lock was never installed.
The whole thing weighs
as much as a week without making —
which is to say, more than you'd think,
which is to say, almost nothing.
I set it on the table
between the letter that's done
and the day that hasn't started.
It sits there, lid ajar,
catching whatever falls in.
The constraint is the freedom.
The labyrinth you build
is the one you get to walk.
Not escape.
Walk.