Chapter Text
for you, a doorway
wardrobe, cellar, mirror
the gateways to our stories,
the ones we hear, the ones we read, and then the ones in which we write ourselves
they teach us to be courageous, and kind, and keep our promises,
and some of us will trust them,
and then they'll break our hearts
for you, a doorway
wardrobe, cellar, mirror
for me, the patterns in the bark and leaves, perhaps a bird up high atop a chestnut tree,
my gateways to the worlds
invented, not discovered, but the ones to keep
when growing up became a certainty, and not a choice
i heard i was supposed to build myself a fairyland
complete with castles, princesses,
perhaps a talking horse and dragon fire
my worlds had rockets, guns and dinosaurs
i had a true imaginary friend when i was six
he flew a spaceship from a bright blue star
(i only had to squint to see the color)
as soon as i convinced my friends of his existence
their parents started calling mine
i promised not to tell the stories
i swore, as in an old folk tale,
that it was not real, was never real, and not intended to be real
my heart remained intact
back then reality was just a word, a world to be avoided
destroyed in battle after boarding rockets to a dream
to dreams within dreams within dreams as i grow old
and all my dreams are lucid
a spiderweb of memories and histories that span decades
for use as private gateways
it took me years to realize my father dreams of stories too
our dog-eared favorites have always shared a taste for heists and darkness
and now i wonder if we've ever met in dreams
before our dreams become the only place for meeting
we might presume to set proud anchors in reality
but in the end we all painstakingly create our worlds
by stacking up our worries, doubts, and wistful promises
that world where everything confirms your fears of being worthless
one where your sharp retort came late and you remained unscathed by the fight
another where you didn't dare to snatch that kiss
another where you did, and it did not transform
into an avalanche that falls from lips in daily quarrels
the worlds discarded every time we've made a choice
for you, a doorway
wardrobe, cellar, mirror...