Even at this point in my life, i still,
could never have my back to the door...
I always face the window
or the door itself...
When the opposite is inevitable,
there are no airs of safety,
or thoughts of peace.
What is it about doors, even windows?
They are supposed to be symbols
of new beginnings, new chances...
But why don't i trust them enough,
to have my back to them...
Like someone, or something evil lurks,
waiting for me 'til i have relaxed my reflexes...
The door and window, i always seek,
always glad after I've gone out of each exit...
But then, behind you, no matter what,
there will always be another window,
another D O O R
R O O D...
I sometimes wonder:
is it the doors?
Or...is it me?
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Some random thoughts that came out of my mind after reading Gonzo's DOWN THE HALL. and while looking at the glass door.***