I’ve got a box. It’s not a very big box, nor does it look particularly special. It has cool grey sides that I think are made from some kind of stone. Granite maybe. It’s edges are slightly rounded, presumably so it’s more comfortable to hold, and I think it is meant to be held, held by me. It fits so perfectly into my hand it’s like I was measured for it. It has no discernible cracks or openings, no locks or latches and certainly no hinge, and yet, I’m sure it is a box. It feels like it has something in it, although it does not rattle. And it’s heavy, much heavier than it looks like it should be. So heavy in fact, I can only hold it for a little while before it gets too much. It was left at my door with a one word note: ‘Memories’.