Doors

By Carolyn Barnard

I’m standing at the door. But standing is just another word for hesitating. Or at least it is in this case. In this case, when I say I’m standing, I mean I’m in that limbo between action and inaction; I’m stuck in a slice of time that I may never leave.

SIX_01DF4123-DF9E-404B-BC90-9D676A048A6EThis door could be my escape.

That’s not fair; what do I have to escape from? I’m not unhappy. I’m not even bored. I’m just. Curious.

The possibility may be nothing like the reality, so I want to savour it for just a moment longer. I bite my bottom lip and draw that sweet unwritten future down inside me. I’ll never have this feeling again; as soon as I open that door all these maybes will solidify into a single now.

But.

This door could be my prison. What if it closes behind me and I can’t open it again?

So. Here I stand.


Carolyn Barnard has been writing for several years, but only just got the nerve to try for publication. She’s in her (very) late twenties and lives in the UK with her husband and dogs. You can find her on Twitter @caba1967a.


Art by Lesley C. Weston (Graphite with digital finish)

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