Sand, Soot, Soil

Posted: August 12, 2014 in Uncategorized

Closets with locks on their doors are never a good sign. No man is a bank with valuables to lock away, no woman a Pandora with responsibility to all of life. A closet with a lock is a neon sign hocking secrets, sex, and scandal for any that come across it, tucked on shelves behind linen, inside the smallest box taped inside a larger box filled with other collected things. The locked closet is an admission of guilt. The locked closet is that teasing invite, that voice that says “I hope someone finds out, I hope I don’t get caught” in the same breath. The locked closet keeps its key hidden in plain sight. And when the clock runs out and time expires, the locked closet will be broken into, and the insignificant hidden things will seem so inconsequential and mundane that all of that wasted effort will have only been painful to that who is already buried, who does not know better than to continue expectantly waiting.


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