I crossed the threshold.
It took some time.
I paced the door
looked in the key hole
I even tested the handle
then finally, I crossed the threshold
only to find another hall
full of a hundred more wonky doors
This is a nice hall
I hall worth resting in
I’ll test some more doors tomorrow
Seasons of solitude Or Seasons of hell
There’s this tiny space inside me. It has a tiny door with a button handle. A button you’d sew on a shirt. It was a fancy gold one. Round and shiny. I could hear music playing from the other side so I got on all fours and placed my ear right up against it. The music didn’t grow louder it stayed as distant but I could see flickers of light dancing just below the door. Then the smell of cookies and gasoline and cupcakes and charcoal intertwined in my nostrils. It was conflicting but curious. There was only one way to solve this. I had to turn the gold button knob and open the door to that tiny place inside me.