Reverence - Book 2

- 28 -

Expectations. 

They were like an empty room. The potential to fill the space was infinite, but ultimately it was up to you to surpass your own design. 

They were like tall glass windows that looked down on a sleeping city, black and clear. You could reach out and touch them, feel the boundary of the cold glass but you could imagine the air grazing across your finger tips. 

They were like a closing door, concealing the work that you were leaving in progress. 

I had expectations now, for a time that I was given to redo. It was my empty room. 

It was my closing door. 

For the first time, I had seen these walls bare. The floors no longer were covered in thick expensive rugs, but instead were washed in a timid white light. 

They were merely floors. 

The big concrete island was barren, with no leather stools butted carefully beneath it's strong lip. 

It was only a counter. 

This big prison cell with four teeming walls and sparkling deceptive glass was a shell. Of commodity, used made ready for reuse. It was only a ghost now, withering away at the life that once passed between it's fingers. 

The ghost of me. 

My soul, undoubtedly would still be entwined in it's ever arching ceiling. My blood pooled unknown in the pores of the floor, my laughter echoing through the pass of the hallways. My tears dripping silently against the porcelain of the bathtub on many moonless nights. 

The thing about leaving is that you never fully go. There are fibers of your humility everywhere. They cling heavily onto the air and they blanket on the ones who enter after. Your scent lingers on their breath and they can feel who you were through the rattle of the city below. 

They are fingerprints on golden door knobs. 

It is the infinity of them that allows your spirit to evolve long after you have left it behind to wander. 

So lock it away I may, for these memories above me and below. 

They are my closing door.