A Story in Geometry

Imagine, you were born a blue cube.
A wonderful, perfect, little, cube.
You had 8 Edges and all your sides had the same length, you were just as little cubes are supposed to be:
Perfect.
But then they came to you and told you that everybody had to fit inside a tube.
But you were no cylinder, you couldn't get into the tube.
So you decided to cut down your edges.
And you became a little cylinder and fit in that tube.
But you couldn't fill it and in fear of their disappointment, you just took your dead edges and build them up, inside yourself.
So, it seemed as if you were flowing out of the tube.
And they came to look at you and they were so proud.
"You fit inside!" they said.
"You are even flowing out a bit, you have to be so talented!"
And they laughed and complimented you inside your tube and you felt it was worth it.
And the years passed and the compliments stopped.
Instead, you got worrying looks, sidelong-glances.
But no one asked, why you didn't grow like all the other little ones.
No one ever asked you themselves.
And when years passed by and they told everyone to start peeling themselves out of their tubes, as they were only meant to help with growing, you started to panic.
You gave up so much just to fit inside.
You didn't expect ever leaving the tube or showing the others what you have done to yourself.
But they gave you no choice.
And they cried out and wailed when you peeled yourself out of the tube.
It hurt so much.
And it seemed to hurt even more to just look at you.
They asked: "Why did you do this?"
"You didn't have to!"
"You should have just told us that you didn't fit!"
And then they tell you for the first time, that there could have been another way, that there are boxes for every type.
For cubes, Pyramids, even balls.
But for you it is too late.
Once you were perfect.
But now you are not.
Not Anymore.
They told you that they aren't to blame.
And you know this.
You never blamed someone else, it's all your fault.
After all, it was your decision.
But still you grief for the lost chances, for your beautiful dead edges, for the painless childhood you could have had.

But maybe, it is better that way.
After all, they started praising you again.
You are unique with your edges inside and your beautiful blue color.
At least you didn't have to paint yourself red like your mother did.