Last night, long after the walls had fallen into a slumber, I lay wide awake. And in the inky haze I could hear the soft murmur of my mom on the phone with my grandma. I heard the word “Keyhole” which stood out agents the other mutters like a rain in the desert.
The blankets kick off letting the air settle as a sweet cover around me. When I heard it echoed through the snoring walls bounding off the dosing dresser,
keyhole,
keyhole,
keyhole.
That’s when I thought of it, keyholes aren’t really only on doors. The purpose for a keyhole on a door it to keep the thing inside locked up so the people around you can only peek in.
But, keyholes are everywhere because life has come to the point where people can’t trust themselves if they’re not locked up. We keep everything so deeply buried that we lose the keys, so when we want to open up our heart, we have blocked ourselves out.
All we do anymore is tip toe around peeping through keyholes hoping to get a glimpse of anything. Of the key, that could unlock the cemented door of the spirit. Or, maybe, just a look at the person that has been fastened away from the world. If we don’t find anything on our first try, then we simply give up.
We are all so advanced that in today’s age we can lie through the digital screen and get away with the ever locking doors with no handles. Till one day man will find a way for us to breathe through masks so we don’t have to talk about problems, like the ozone, we can just leave them. And when it happens our doors can be bolted so tight that even a look though a keyhole won’t tell you more than a name.
As I lay in the soft blackness of the dead night, I think about rusting doors that have be shut for too long. I am tired of rust cutting people out, of lost keys, and muttering in the next room. And of peeping though keyhole after keyhole trying to find which one holds the true.
But, trying to open up doors these days is like the fading of the echo of
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Okay, I have only one word in response to this blog post; WOW! You must tell me Jessy, who do you inherit your astounding writing skills from?? Fabulous job Jessy!
I would have to say my mom and my Albert for they both dearly love to write.
Thanks Jess. Albert and I do love to write. We love telling stories; this i believe, the cry of the consitpated ape.
You share that one.