Once I walk in between these trucks, I will be in a different world.
The world is sticky and sweet like cinnamon buns on a weekday morning before school. You’d think he was an ordinary man making a phone call, but the black pinstripe tie on rainbow blue shirt in this world told otherwise: The sketchy couple huddled in between their cars laughing about the days gone past are hiding. They know about the bomb that might come; they know that he’s making more than just business deals.
The air is heavy with spring and it makes you wonder about the poetry of your world: isn’t it supposed to be light? Instead, you feel every breath sighed out of every tree that couldn’t stand winter even more than you.
There is a woman smoking a cigarette outside of an Italian deli. You fail to see the magic in everyday life, but in this world she’s glowing. The ferret on her shoulder can sing and the smoke is more like dark fairy dust, corrupted by years of confusion and sadness. She no longer feels it but it will haunt her forever.
When you’re done with your errands, you don’t need to walk through the doorway to return home. It’s a temporary affliction– your mind is already on something else, and whether that be more concrete or more fantasy it doesn’t belong in this world.
There are many such doorways in our lives. Sometimes we see them and choose not to walk through them, but sometimes they creep up on us and we spend the day wondering why everything seems so off. Do not be afraid: they’re pathways into new perspectives. Reality is what you make it, not what the world makes you.