Something so unreal it has to be a dream.
Something so logical, I know that it’s not.
Something I’m so sure of now,
And thus have no choice but to question.
I know I should run,
Run and never look back.
But as soon as I’ve left the door,
As soon as the quarter totters between heads and tails,
I will know I’ve made a mistake.
Or I will know I have not.
No matter, it will be too late.
But if the door is never touched,
I will never leave.
I will never see objectively.
Forever swept up,
Forever locked up,
Forever so sure of him and me.
“Welcome to the game of life,” says he.
And eventually the handle will turn as your eyes are opened with the door. The cycle continues. Always on the quest for what is meant to be, and always thinking that you've already found it, that is, until you have not.