On mindfucks

Four keys. One opens up my past. One reveals my future. One shows me everything I’ve ever done wrong. One opens the door to escape and forget everything.

I choose.

1 is what I’ve always done. 2 I am too afraid of. 3 I already know. 4 is the easy way out.

There has to be another key.

There isn’t.

1 I stay where I am. 2 I risk losing it all. 3 will teach me nothing. 4 I learn nothing.

There has to be another key.

There isn’t.

1 will keep me haunted. 2 will keep me enslaved. 3 will shatter every thread of my already bare soul. 4 will keep me blind.

There must be another key.

There isn’t.

1 is limbo. 2 is a supernova. 3 is a wormhole. 4 is nothingness.

There has to be another key.

There isn’t.

I throw away 3 and 4.

There isn’t.

I take 1 and 2 in my hands and feel their shape slowly. Two silver keys, simple, elegant, unembroidered, unnumbered, uncut. They are exactly the same, except for their weight. One of them pushes my skin a little harder and feels more raw inside my hand. Like its edges have been dragged through concrete.

1 was me. 2 isn’t me yet. And I am standing in the middle.

1 holds my choices. 2 hides my intent. And I, am standing in the middle, of everything that will ever be me.

1 is what I’ve learned. 2 is all I’ve yet to discover. And I am standing in the middle, knowledgeable and ignorant.

1 is lies and truths and memories of good intentions and bad decisions. 2 is an effervescent wish in a game of chess I’m playing against myself.

Always choose black.

So I open my hands. I close them on each other. Fuse the keys. Close my eyes. Take a breath.

There has always been another key.

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