Lost sight of a picture never taken

Lost art of keeping a secret
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2019-09-20 12:00:00 (UTC)

Wooden door

There’s been a doorway in my mind since I can remember. Took years to discover there was a door hanging on the hinges, but longer still to clear a way for it to shut.

Through the door is a walkway down roads and paths I walked for years. To a place where nothing is quite the same as it is out here. A place I can lose myself for days, not hours. The trouble is, auto pilot doesn’t work so well when you have responsibilities. There’s only so much you can do without having to think about it.

For a long time I would sit in the dark, leave a part of me on the other side and step through to place things, or touch things and remember. There were shadows, there are always shadows, nothing is fully lit in this life. But they were reasonably few and far between, compared to nowadays anyway.

It was remarkably easy to turn out the light that shone above it all, to blacken the room and close the door. So intricately carved, even on the outside, to show which door it is. Pictures paint a thousand words, and tell a million stories, if you let them.

That door shut and truth be told I don’t know why I shut it. I can’t remember what ran through me when I did. I can’t remember what drove me and I certainly can’t remember ever thinking that it shouldn’t be opened again. I just know that somewhere between then and now, I realised that opening that door would be something that I couldn’t do, something I wouldn’t do alone. That I’d blown out the candle, but that it wasn’t me who would or could re-light it.

Every now and then I wonder what it would feel to walk those roads again. Feel the gravel beneath my feet and the cold air in my lungs. I wonder what it would be like to truly remember, to see and touch and feel.

But then my hand waivers and I step back into the darkness. A voice always says “Can’t live in the past” but I’d drown in memories and die a happy person, if it weren’t for that voice trying to stop me. Things have changed in this world, things that can’t ever changed back. I shut a lot of things behind that door, parts of myself that I never realised I’d left behind.

I’ve no doubt it’d flood back if I opened the door, like a burst dam. But things have changed since that door was shut and I’m not sure this world has a place for what sit’s behind it.

Maybe one day I’ll sit at the desk and pick back up where I left off, but I can’t see in the dark.