KNOCK KNOCK

I don't know what it is about the door.
There's something about the way it opens and closes always in onomatopoeia.
It’s not like it’s over animated in anyway and if so, only in scale. It’s a moment of transition- a threshold from one chapter to the next.

I remember the exact moment when I read DO NOT ENTER on your door. It was typed in bold letters (probably in Helvetica.) I had mistaken it for art before I understood its meaning by definition. I tried the knob but It was locked to further enforce its stance. I panicked. Suddenly the door that always proposed a window of opportunity or a transition to new and better experiences became a dead end, a bump in the road and a pain in my heart.
So I’m jiggling the knob- coaxing it to unlock. I shake it like an Etch-a-sketch praying that the door will dissolve in front of me. I need a key or secret password and since I don’t have either of those I realize I’m royally screwed. It’s one of those moments when it starts to rain indoors and before you realize the absurdity of the situation, you close your eyes and hope that your imagination is simply soaring ahead of you.
I go over my options once again and I remember that the only gentleman-like thing to do in a moment like this is to knock.

So now I’m here, at your door in contemplation and in metaphor.