ceilings become walls walls become halls halls have floors floors have doors doors that won't open no matter how hard I keep pounding on each one. you always gave me these metaphors for your soul; for your body. "You see, my love, my mind is a ceiling and my brain turns on like its fan, swirling round and round when thoughts of you arise. That air, those thoughts, start bouncing off of my inner walls, they touch my eyes when they see you, my ears when they hear you, my lips when they taste you... They all eventually lead to my halls... arms and legs, you know. They get the jitters. I call them the halls because they are dead ends, so you gotta turn around when my fingers start snapping and fidgeting, when my knees start shaking at the sight of you... when I get cold feet... Anyway, once you've turned around, you'd find the flats. The floors, my dear, all starin' at the doors." this is where you'd always trail off, but I knew what you'd meant your tired soul was aching for those doors to be opened never mind your thoughts and you limbs and your sins never mind your arms and legs and head and mental strains. you'd always wanted your heart ripped wide open so I politely knocked on these doors for you but you never let me in I rapped with a passion on each one bur you never let me in I started banging on these doors, desperate and longing for what was beyond I was tired of peering through key holes hoping that maybe my broken fingers might fit the slots or finally turn the knobs but you never let me in...
later that year, I came to the realization that you always left your window open and this day, it was shut. I walked to your door, and it was wide open this door had floors floors had halls halls became walls... ...and I found you from the ceiling, that fan would never turn on again.