As I come back to my old chair,
in that old room, behind that closed oak door
with an old rusted handle,
I realized something that I’ve had all along…
The heavy door swung open with a loud piercing creak, the window on the opposite wall lets in the morning light that shines through- making all the dust particles in the air visible to the human eye.
This room use to have so much color, so many unique things to look at, from books to paintings, music to picture frames-
everything has been removed; except
that old reliable chair, and the small carved desk, with a single pen and journal laying exposed to the forming dust layers. I walked over, and sat down in the wooden hand carved chair, blowing off the dust that settled on the desk and journal. The pen had no top, like it’s been waiting for me to use it. I opened the first page up in the empty leather journal.
I took a deep breath, sighed, and wrote the words that came to my head;
“I’m alive again, more alive than I was before…
Let me not tell you the simplest yet complicated story of me,
a tale that only begins with a few steps, extends to a leap, then to a great horrendous fall,
let me tell you of the now, of not the things in the past that killed me,
but of the things that killed me and brought me back to another person
a person who I am, right now.”