It’s as if the closet is looking back at me laughing, pointing, calling me a coward. Pressure swelling at the hinges dying to break loose and flood my reality with its truths. Everything has been piled in an unorganized fashion into a closet. Not a vault. Vaults require security codes that can make the step between thinking about opening it and actually turning the combo as long a pause as possible. Doors to closets are opened much easier. Probably to the hoarder’s intent. There’s not much holding a closet closed, just a half turn of the knob and all that was kept hidden comes toppling out in one big rush as if the secrets needed oxygen, the air in there being too sparse.

Does that mean the secrets will be more vengeful when allowed out? Will they exaggerate their presence as retaliation for being held back for so long?

All at once what’s concealed settles.

A slight tap from inside breaks the silence. For a moment I am fooled into believing that I can ease the door and permit the years to seep out slowly. For a moment I am tricked into believing that the sweet tapping will smell like molasses thus being gentle with its exit.

I pause.

The tapping gets deeper, and impatient. Resentful and full of spite. The closet starts laughing again. Calling me names that I’ve never owned. The hinges are whistling again. The door knob rattling and the frame buckling under the pressure. The tapping has been replaced by an incessant boom that reverberates my chest.

The closet it there. Waiting. Threatening me. Mocking me. Daring me to come closer. Pulsating inconsistently. Knowing it can be stronger than I am. Knowing the power it holds and the consequences that will result from being set free. It’s toying with me. Whimpering at times to disguise itself as apologetic and non-threatening. Luring me into believing I can have control of its soul if I just open the door and let some light in. Allow new air to circulate and old air to escape.

The closet. It wears a mask of shame and regret.

The closet. It wears a mask of pity and embarrassment, never pride. One of fear and abandonment.

The door knob rattles. Softly this time. The raging battle has been put to rest, my stance unwavering. For now I am the victor. For now.

Everything & Anything