The Room

“Welcome” they said as I entered through the doorway. I would have laughed, but they were too well armed and my armour was in dire need of reconditioning. It took a few too many moments to find a place to sit. If you were to ask me then why I had arrived, I might have been able to compile a seemingly coherent justification. Upon reflection, the price I paid for avoiding memories seems steep in relation to my dreams. Though without them I doubt my dreams would contain the menagerie of colours it does today, were it not for the misappropriated hours of my life. That room was filled with all the means to delay my life. In all fairness I did gain the odd reinterpretation of events and a pair of new perspectives. But I was a child there. The strengths I had toiled for were beyond my capacity to recall. Though now the moments in which I can exhale into my skin the fires of certainty have become so much the sweeter. Reclining into myself, at piece, in power, lies the prologue to a dream that seemed so far from my moments. The room looks so much different now. I know were to sit. Still I knock before entering.