Having a door opened and not wanting to step through. It doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel right.
It was a tricky door; its lock needed a special touch every time you tried. You only ever picked the lower lock. The easy one, the one you could reach. Time and time again you’d go there, more confident each time, more experienced with failures adorning your utility belt of adulthood. But it never quite clicked, never connected and each time you’d go away exactly as confused as the time before. So now, they are standing here, holding that door open that you struggled with for so long, swinging it back and forth like it’s nothing, and you hesitate.
You don’t like the look of the door anymore. It is no longer your door, you don’t recognize it. The scratches from your key have been painted over; you wonder who took the time to do that. This is not a metaphor, this is your damn door and someone else is messing with it. And you don’t like it.
Why’d you even bother trying all this time? So now this has become something else entirely, something sinister inside of you. You don’t want to go through and you hate that your door has lost its sparkle. And you hate it because you know this is all in your head, that you invented this villain, and you are the one stopping yourself from just playing it cool, staying calm and walking through that door.
But you see (you see), you have reasons. This is not your first rodeo. You’ve been through doors that have swung back around and hit you, ones that locked behind you- mostly you’ve just met more doors. OK, this might be a metaphor now. When everywhere you look is a sea of doors, but never any keys, you’d think an open one would be a welcome sight. But instead it’s illogically suspicious.
There is no end to this story, this is your life and always has been: an endless tunnel of doors. You never exit or enter them the same way twice, and as much as you’d like to say you never look back, you do. Let’s be real: of course you do.