the Door

A closed door. Blue with a golden handle. The wood, chipped around the edges and the sides. A closed door that sits at the end of a hallway. A skeleton key hangs beside the door but no one dares to enter. The door closed from the outside, or maybe closed to the outside. What won’t go in? Or what doesn’t want to come out? 

An open door sits at the end of a hallway. Blue with a golden handle. The wood, freshly painted. Inside- the room of a little boy. His toys laid throughout. A lego here, a teddy there. The carpet mat of the city streets, cars driving in a make-believe world. The little boy smiles. The laughs fill the open room along with the rays of the sun. The dust sparkles gently in the glow. The smell of summer fills the room from the open window. 

A closed door at the end of the hallway. A key still hangs but the door isn’t locked. With a latch and a push the door opens. The room in boxes. What was once toys and laughter, with the golden glow of the sun making the dust sparkle in the air, is now dull and dark. The little boy no longer lives here. His laughter no longer fills the room. 

A closed door at the end of the hallway. Closed by years of hate. Closed by years of fear. 

A closed door at the end of the hallway, once open for anyone to fill its walls with light and laughter. 

A closed door at the end of the hallway. The wood, chipped around the edges and the sides- sits with its golden handle hoping for someone to fill it with light and laughter again.

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