Poetic Story I

Knock on the door.

It opens and I see a mirror.

I look into it and see no reflection

so I throw it to the floor.

I close the door.

I walk to the end of the corridor.

I see a window.

I pull it open with all my might

but the sky is empty

pitch black and cold.

I slam the window shut.

I turn on my heel and run for the exit

but the door was bolted shut.

I fall to my knees

and all I can do is stare at my hands.

I hadn’t notice they were wrinkled and old.

Aged.

Bruised.

The sound of time fills the air.

It echoes in the halls and bounces off walls

and slam into doors

and rattle hanging objects.

Each movement of time

Each moment of progression

and yet, I am still on my knees

counting my fingers to see if they were all still there.

They are still here.

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