You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman


closed doors and undecided hearts

“There are things that are known and things that are unknown and in between there are doors.”
–William Blake

IF THERE'S ANYONE OUT THERE who could hear my thoughts, I urge you to come forth. Read them to me for I have lost the ability to make sense of the things bouncing within the walls of my skull. What torment is worse than the struggle with your own mind? What’s more wretched than to fall victim to your own thoughts? The more I think, the farther I pull away from the answers and pushed nearer towards the inevitable loss. Is there greater tragedy than to be eaten by reason in trying to win a war in the battlefield of the heart? But I know risking an open war is the only good choice I have and evasion will just send me directly into the pit of defeat.

Fear is scouting by my doorstep, knocking on my door like a friendly neighbor, with a knife at the ready. A step outside these walls would be a stab to the heart or a slit to my throat. Should I risk it? Should I let it in and lock it in my arms like a long lost friend, when in fact it is no more than a stranger; nameless, dark, and mischievous as the night?

Snapshots flash before my eyes. As fast as lightning they came and left like thunder, sending rumbling echoes into the still air—ghosts in my head, hungry zombies drooling at my feet. It is strange to find comfort in the chaos of it all; in the randomness of things and in the disorientation to what was, what is, and what will be. This limbo is a fortress and a prison at the same time. In here time has no wings. This is a place where all streets that leads to nowhere end. This was a sanctuary for me once but the pleasure of floating into nothingness had faded like ecstasy swimming in drugged veins. And what was left was the urge to feel warmth, to scour the ever shaded world for a hint of light, and to find anything that could fracture the absolute silence buzzing its usual boring melody.

As I say this, my hand grasps the latch. On the other side of the door is the love of my life and my greatest fear. Should I open the door? It’s interesting how indecision could turn someone into an empty shell—hollow, brittle, fragile. My brain is cramping with too many thoughts and yet there is only one choice to make: either to lock the door or turn the knob I am grasping with my clammy hand. But whatever I choose to do, one thing is certain—I will break…

…exactly how I broke your heart…


jonathan said...

Your decision... to open or not and the consequences of your actions are what is making you apprehensive. Good choice or not, your family and friends will always be there. Follow your heart, step forward and once you think you needed help, please do not hesitate to ask. I may be one and far, but there's always strength in numbers. God bless!

Anonymous said...

it is always that huh? not really the indecision, but the decisiveness that always has to come with life. ugh.s

Manech said...

"Fear is scouting by my doorstep, knocking on my door like a friendly neighbor, with a knife at the ready. A step outside these walls would be a stab to the heart or a slit to my throat."

Fear (or loneliness for the matter) alone can never kill anyone. And that's what makes it harder, I think.

Rachel said...

cannot fathom the last lines..