Metafour

I gotta get over this funk. This obstacle. There are other roads out there if only I'd allow myself to follow them. I would like to think I've been on a dirt path this whole time, unaware of what might be in front of me. Woods all around with old gravel and dust kicking up under my shoes. I kinda like the idea of not knowing what old house this dirt path leads to. A house with twenty-five rooms, all waiting for me to open the doors and expose the secrets. A home with grass growing so tall, strangling the ideas from leaking out into the real world. I can't help that I feel more comfortable taking the risk. I feel obligated to take care of the overgrown grass and open every door to every room because maybe the house will understand that I'm the one who holds the right size key and the proper lawn mower. This house may be racked with termites eating away at the wooden beams keeping the structure intact, but I'd almost rather take the plunge with the support. I could choose to travel down the newly paved road because it's safe and has reflectors on the broken lines. It'll lead to a newly furnished house with a good sense of humor and a substantial library. Even though the house is secure with the thermostat set at a comfortable temperature, the bedroom doors are all open and a pile of fresh grass clippings sit clumped together by the garbage can. The mystery isn't there and neither are the butterflies.

I'm not finished.