When you walk through a doorway you forget where you were going and why.
Did I need paperclips or a stamp?
On the way to check the mail or get a drink?
But the doorway gives your mind permission to
Let go of where it was,
Moving on,
Done with that,
Free up some space.
That leaves you standing there,
Feeling silly,
Holding the bag,
Wondering if it's a precursor to senility.
You tell yourself it was important,
Or unimportant,
But you close your eyes,
Helping your brain track breadcrumbs,
Relaxing into it,
Trying to feel it,
But it's gone.
Lost it,
Almost nostalgic for it already.
There are more doorways and arches ahead,
And they loom like sirens,
Taunting and calling you.

© Poem Fix 2012
Photo by Ishai Parasol

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