My Door

There is a door. It’s my door.


On the other side is my complete happiness. I can hear it calling to me.

It’s a beautiful door; one I’ve hand-carved. It took me a long time to get it to look this ornate.


I’ve spent many years just looking at the door and tracing and retracing the patterns itched into it.


The problem is, a long time ago, someone put a lock on it-could have been me.


I’ve been trying to open it, but haven’t been able to.


I have the wrong set of keys. None of them could quite turn the lock. I tried jiggling the handle and putting the keys in backwards. There were even times when I tried filing the edges of some of those keys to get them to fit, but I only managed to mess up the keys instead.


So I’m left standing in front of a door that has an enormous lock on it and a ring full of keys that won’t open it.


I think I’m going to drop those keys and take a step toward the door and I’m not entirely sure, but mostly sure, that when I try the knob, it won’t be locked anymore.