There is a small door in the corner of my chest,
heavy with dust and decades of moving forward.
I locked it behind me when the world got loud,
thinking I was leaving behind the sadness,
not realizing I was actually leaving behind a good part of me.
Inside, the air is preserved in amber.
A younger version of me sits on the floor,
knees pulled tight, watching the keyhole,
waiting for the sound of familiar footsteps.
He counts the years in ticking clocks and quiet shadows,
wondering what kind of adult promises were made
that kept me from ever returning to pick him up.
I carry the key in my pocket every day,
warm against my hip,
yet I keep walking past the threshold,
afraid to step inside,
afraid to face the child who still wonders
why I left him behind in the dark.
-fazli Aug 21 2026
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