To my Home
Closed doors could be unlocked, open doors could mean escape and what about no doors? Does that mean I can never escape? Is this place my capture? My end? There is a window here, but a window is no escape. It could have miles underneath, that does not matter now, since this window is locked. No where to go but in my mind. I travel the whole world here. Miles and miles walking with only the thought of getting to the next step. I can go home, I can see them but they cannot. Even if I slap that brother of mine to look at me, he still won’t feel it. It’s in my mind I tell myself, but so tempting. All I really have to do is close my eyes and there I am away from everything, away from this room with no doors. Away from the life which only consist a window now and a small bin.
I get food everyday, but I never seem to remember how it really comes. Is it the roof? Or the window maybe. I get it but then I don’t seem to remember where it really comes from. At first I thought it because I was asleep, so once I just stayed awake the whole time once. It was no use though, these stone walls did not move, they did not shift, not once but the food was there. Real food with no taste, but food none the less. There is someone looking at me I was sure, there was someone who sent all that food. I talk to them sometimes with no reply, but the thought of knowing there is someone watching keeps me going. There are people just a few steps away I tell myself everyday, since the thought otherwise is scary, so scary that I might die thinking I am the only one around here, no one to rescue, no one to have pity on me.
The first days thinking of pity would have infuriated me, but now after all these years I am just tired. I have some questions I ask the people watching over me. Why am I here? Am I safe? Is the world still there? I can see my graying hair, my wrinkled hands. My clothes so tore that I am nearly wearing nothing. Once a upon a time I would have fussed thinking about it, but now, even this is alright. I mean who is there to watch? To tell me how I looked? No one. They do maybe and so I try to comb my hair with my fingers. They might leave me one day. I mean how long can you hold a person. There are n doors, no doors mean no escape and so I sleep in my thoughts again where I travel miles and miles. To my home. To them..