Monday Oct 17 2022
12:27PM
I'm standing on the crevice of reality and imagination; on the brink of consciousness and dreams. The wind blows the cold weak leaves, as if in slow motion. Fallen leaves turn dry, the crunching sound vivid in my minds eye. The little house remains solid, withstanding the gust of change. There is an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach as I stand rooted, peering at the dim yellow light casted by the fireplace in the house. That fire wasn't lit just a moment ago, shadows move behind the walls, the sound of a record playing travels across the expanse; and in my cement shoes I continue to stand. My hands turn rigid as I try with all my might to cross this threshold. I know beyond this veil stands progress, stands growth; the uncomfortableness holds all the answers we could ever need. The warmth of that flame, I knew would not warm the cold fingertips of my hands, or my numb nose and cheeks and ears, nor this yearning soul. And yet I knew deep down that I must go. I turned around to face behind me, contemplating heading back to where I came; noticed how even the sun behind me was dim, a time long gone. A smile began to form upon my lips, an uncontrollable and melancholy smile. The distance to this little house in the woods was close yet far, but I knew it took only one frightening step after another, and soon at new crossroads I would come to face again.
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