Closed Door

Closed Door

A closed door

doesn’t matter to me anymore.

It was something that fit the old me,

and now I can see

that I entirely lived within

something imaginary:

a pedestal I had built

within my head,

a throne encrusted with pearls and gems

of the finest design.

That dream is no longer mine.

Instead, I’ve come back down to earth

to sit in a chair

made from sturdier things,

providing me with freedom

and giving me wings.

I live life more steadily;

I readily

give myself over to conventionality,

living satisfactorily,

down to earth with congeniality.

Reviews

[Neha agrawal]

This feels like closure in the healthiest sense.
Not bitter. Not resentful. Just… peaceful.
It’s refreshing. Thank you for writing something that feels like an exhale.