Free to Write

Beyond the dreams’ gates, lay awakening, a certain reality, and he wanted that. It was why, as he left, he made sure those gates were locked and their key thrown away.

Reality, however, offered a dusty path through parched fields on which gale-force winds swept at him, recurrent in waves, knocking him down. It was then, when he found himself face-down on the ground, he recalled the dreams and began wrestling with regret over the key he lost. After all, he didn’t wish a lifetime of trauma, tyranny, heartbreak, and grief without his dreams. So he began searching for that key in the dumps. After much flailing around in the garbage, he found not the key but a pencil that fit his hand perfectly. “Maybe this will help open the gate,” he thought and began writing.

I think he might be right. Sometimes pencils do work as keys.