The Locked Doors

We build walls and lock doors to protect ourselves. As you walk past strangers in every day life it’s like walking down a hall filled with doors. My door has a mural hand painted on it of those that I love. Most people can open this door and visit the gallery that is the surface of me. You will find all the art that I create laid about to see. Eventually you will notice things missing from the gallery. There are places were something once was, but it is no longer. It’s like thoughts, memories, or actions unwilling to be shared or seen.

There’s a white empty hallway that leads deep inside… to a room filled with locked doors. Each door is different but has something that hints of what lies behind it. Whether it’s what the door is made of, or what’s painted on the door, or whether it feels hot or cold to the touch, or if you can hear anything coming from behind it, or if it has a tiny window built for peeking inside. Each door is a piece of myself, locked away.

There is one door made of cold steel that is sealed without a keyhole or handle to open it with, suggesting it’s never meant to be opened. There is no paint or window, nor a hint of what lies behind it. The only way in is without a key.

Not every door is a dark secret or traumatic memory. Some doors lead to the best parts of my soul. There is a door for love and for guilty pleasures or things too shy to express openly. There are doors for silly things that I just can’t share with anyone. Somethings are meant for certain kinds of people. Every one has these doors… or walls… barriers to protect yourself from pain. Levels to the mind and heart that one must traverse upon deciding which doors they want to open… at least the ones they can get the keys too.

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