The door remains open.
A step outside and a series of events will be set in motion that cannot be prevented.
The light will momentarily blind your eyes. Too long have you sat contemplating in dim light, consigning your worries to insignificance.
How will that first deep breath of fresh air feel in comparison to the claustrophobia of that room?
How will it feel to breath life into those wearied lungs of yours, to feel the blood coursing anew through your tired limbs, to have light shine from those empty eyes? O nly you can begin this journey of yours.
The destination remains cloaked in conjecture.
The path undecided.
About the Creator
Donald Quixote
Hopeless romantic,
adventurer in paradox;
so it goes
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Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven5 days ago in Fiction
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