It was filled with magic. Or at least that’s how i saw it. Today it sits in Massachusetts on my sister’s closet shelf. Waiting to be opened again and see the smile on children’s delighted faces. Only the smile will be bittersweet, and from a teenager and adult. The owner won’t find bubbles, candy and magic. The will open it to find a disappointing pile of papers and pointless things that have no relation to fun or magic at all.

When we were both children and lived in the old house, the box was forbidden for me to touch. Sometimes when i would sit in our room and admire it, she would yell at me and tell me to stop or else she would hit me.
Oh but the times she brought it off the little menacing shelf. Those times she decided she had had enough of my whining. The times she brought down the magic winnie the pooh box. These were the times that me and my sister share some of our best memories together. Bubbles would be flying around everywhere followed by the sound of our laughter. Candy would be eaten and magic would be created by two loving sisters.