Door
Amid my redundant days,
filled with predictable surprises,
familiar mazes of thoughts
I would come across a door.
My door—
sometimes a door,
sometimes a tunnel, a hole
a caveat in a tree—
but the same door nonetheless.
I know it by how time starts swimming in honey
all the sound drowning in it’s thickness—
all but the pixie caged in my head,
its mousey little voice, usually unheard.
“Another change to find home.
Will you answer the call today?” it asks.
I vaguely remember all the other times I have been here,
in this exact moment.
I know it’s happened before
but I cannot recall—
like a dream that fades with morning light.
In fear of leaving what I think is home,
I take a step back
and look around at all I’ve ever known.
Known home?
That’s not right.
Why has the wide world that I understood just moments ago
now seem foreign?
Warm pain grabs my attention
and I see it now—
the world I know is only real
because I have held it too tightly in my hands.
So tightly, it leaves a bloody trail.
It hurts,
and nothing sounds better to let go.
Beyond the door, a gentle yet persistent force tugs,
wants me in its gravity
like some ancient time before.
“Start the her’s journey.
Leave the world behind.
You never liked it here anyway.”
Caught between the known and alien home
I hesitate.
“You’ve been waiting for this moment.”
This is insane
“All stories start with insanity.
Come on, you’re ready”
I reach out, but the crimson memory on my hands stop me.
Will what comes next also cut me, bruise me,
make living hurt?
Scared to put a foot down in either direction,
the door closes in impatience.
Honey drained away,
time flows as usual,
and the pixie’s voice is no more.
Disappointment peaks it’s head,
but does not welcome itself in—
Because even if I forget this encounter by morning,
any shy pixie knows my door will open many times more,
and our tango of choice shall continue forevermore.