Morning Exercise - March 21

Floating through space. Time is measured by stars and their dead light. It is empty here, but also entire. Somehow the way things come into view and out it feels like a long, dark hallway where the doors are endless and unknown. I want to walk through this door, but it is locked. Even though it is locked from the outside I still cannot get in. If what I want is on the other side I should be able to break through it. Shatter the wood and let it splinter around me like a thousand stars. But I can't. Or I can't yet. Or I never will be able to. Because I'll never be good enough. But floating here in the dark, unattached to anything I can do. It doesn't hurt here. I don't think I deserve to go through any door. And the doors feel the same. As they are all locked and want nothing to do with me. They say "Get out. This is not for you." As I breathe I realize there is no air and never has been. I have put these locks here and the keys never existed. They are meant to be broken. They tease and taunt me the way they refuse to break. But I barely try.

He laughs at the locks. He doesn't believe in the doors. He wants to take the sky, but it is not his. He will do anything to have it. The locks believe his lies and the doors disappear with such ease. It is not fair. It is painful to watch. Is the only way to get through to lie? Does lying make you good enough? That does not make sense. If that is the way to this place I do not want to be in it. I would rather float eternally in the dark, never knowing where I am or where I am going. Honesty is supposed to be pure and good, but who supposed it? Maybe it isn't.

As I walk down the dark hallway, there is a turn and around it comes me. I smile. I reach out my hand and shake it. Did I come through a door? How did I break the lock? She slaps me and shakes her head. I deserve this. She knows why. Leaning over to my ear, I whisper all the things I have done. She does not say whether they are bad or good, but I have done them all regardless of that. She looks at me and presses a kiss to my lips. The kiss tells me the things I need to do. How to break through. She looks past me as if she had never seen me at all. She walks down the hallway and passes through a door, without even breaking it and comes through another one. When she looks my way she looks as if she has been through a thousand heartbreaks and I reach out to touch her, to comfort her, but my hands go through her like water. She sounds like a rushing river when she speaks, but somehow I understand. "Not yet," she says.