There is a place inside us to painful too consider. So look away now if you do not wish to know the result.
It is well-hid and boarded-up; crude planks and nails. Most experiences in life don’t take us anywhere near it.
Indeed, they take us away from the place and with good reason.
We knew this home once but had to leave in haste. No one in their right mind would stay.
Once we had the keys to the door, but we threw them away. Who’d want keys to that door?
The paths to it are now secret and overgrown; its existence widely denied.
‘I know of no such place,’ people say in their new homes, behind the wall of silence.
And life goes on, the struggle and the hurry. We have other things to do.
But should circumstance ever bring you back to this door – this door that doesn’t exist – don’t crumble.
Here is softness, vulnerability and pain, raw mementos of terror, sorrow and joy.
This is the talk on the street and it has the ring of truth.
But don’t run.
I’ve seen some who have stumbled on this place and left laughing like a drain.