doors

I am reminded of a previous time in my life when I rode the bus lines simply to see where they would go.

It is not the whole truth; it is the version that is publicly acceptable now. This is a partial lie of course. I also rode the bus lines to escape, even briefly, the monotony that lay across me.

And that too is a lie of sorts, for when I peel back the onion some more, I see myself hiding on those bus trips, filling my days with going and dreaming of the time when I would leave.

These dreams of departure, hiding, escape twirl in a waltz beneath the skin, behind an eye, and in the fleeting moment of a reflection caught in steel or glass of shop windows. The small moments of a small life… I am reminded of a previous time in my life looking through doors in a long hall of doors. I see myself sitting on a chair waiting, looking back, out of the room, into the hall…