Thrive

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by Jiffur

by Jiffur

I can see a door,
With both hands, I push at the hinges.
With all my might I push. My palms sweat, my knees bend.
Filth amasses beneath my fingers. It loosens my grip. My weight works against me and the door triumphs again.

I upright myself at my bedside. My feet take their place beneath me. Under the watch of the moon, I step outside to kill the thought of an all-consuming secret; If I must battle wolves let me first steal their teeth.
An orange night-light is still stained on my phone as the office begins to fill. All week we’ve longed to be elsewhere, and today we shall speak and sing our truths. For once I allow the chorus to sit within me. I feel it resonate, beckoning for my union, but order and reason present themselves and I draw back my voice from the song. The smiles and salutations end before long, and in the quiet of the day I sit and consider the mechanisms that brought us here.
For some us, those mechanisms were the pursuit of ambition or the fulfilling of a vocation. Usually a lily-pad in life’s river rapids. But progress didn’t always chart fairly with age. Frustration sets in, and then comes the haste. The place we found refuge we now burn to escape, and in the end we fumble the precious leap of faith.
Bitter is the fruit of our labour.
But bitter fruit is still better than none at all, so we continue in the cycle. Our chains of choice are linked and loop over.
But I still wonder what we’d have if, for once and all time, we broke them.

My hand shakes a little, but nobody looking towards it - our shadows are stretched and liberation is nigh. Many of us will celebrate and rejoice into the night, each hoping to snatch away a moment from time.
I shall rejoice with them but from a distance. The couch is cosy, and from here I’ll survey boundless truths and imagination from the…

~VMMMMMMMMM~

~VMMMMMMMMM~
My phone blooms into light. I suppose that plans can change that quickly.

‘Oh, hey Cora. How’s it going?’

* * *

I can see a door,
With both hands, I push at the edge of it.
With all my might I push. My palms are fixed, my feet are steady.
The door croaks and it creaks but this time I prevail
And on the other side is every chance to flourish over again.