Title in Progress

1
There is a lamp in the corner of the room. I am blind as I walk away from the door, entering the uncharted. I see a mirror. It is bent and cracked, a devastating crack that could cause the reflection before me to shatter at any moment. The mirror doesn’t move and the floor beneath my feet remains cold. My toes crinkle at each step I take, reaching out to feel the objects before me. They are planted on a rug. Imaging it is red, gold and made of silk as I step onto its lavish surface. The lamp has finally reached my quivering fingertips. A bright flash pops before my eyes, only for an instant before it is quickly taken back.
Again in the dark, I walk towards the door. Now, I realize that there is light emanating from the portal. The boxed frame is wooden and tall. Our mirror in the corner gives back the light put on its face, like the moon’s relationship with the sun. I find my way out the door into the corridor. Along the left wall there is my shadow following me. Finally, I realize I am not alone. The right wall contains another portal into another world. It is bright and open, and leaves a resonance of a tree I once stood at. Stepping past the woodwork of the frame befalls my past recollections of light and air. Faces line the walls of this corridor and are no longer those of whom I recognize.
The aroma of sensitivity crosses my olfactory glands, and I am overwhelmed with the passion to find where it is coming from. Remembering that I must find a bulb to brighten that dark room, I travel past the deep sinking feeling trapping me in. Suddenly there is a storming of thoughts raining on my mind. I must continue to lighten this room, and nothing can keep me from doing so. Those thoughts of not succeeding will have to cease and reveal this vital task at hand.

Finally I reach the supply cabinet, so many things that are stored in here. As I begin digging in, old photographs fall from the top shelf onto the dusty floor. On the very top shelf I see a box of forgotten memories and a bag of quotable quotes. The next shelf down had a bag of incense, a stale joint and reels of photo negatives. “There my eulogy, will and social security card. Better keep them in a safe place. Who knows how long, they will be needed?” thinking while searching the contents of the next shelf, “I need do something with this junk, instead of trapping it in a closet, once full of usefulness.” I set them aside on the floor next to me and dig deeper into the closet. The last thing I wanted to see was that vile heart-shaped box. Afraid to touch the object oozing with pain, I grab it without spilling its contents. Behind it was a capsule of tears, The Plain White T’s and a Cumberland Falls postcard. These are in the wrong place, I thought, and continued to discard them onto the floor.
“Jesus, where are you?” I metaphorically say. It has to be somewhere. Getting lost in the cabinet’s abyss, the tunnel vision began to sink in. Not focusing at what I was doing, I quickly woke up and snapped back into the real moment in time. Sitting on the floor with all these insignificant pieces of thought and memory surrounding me, I felt suffocated. So, I paused to recapture my breath and remember that he too was a man. “Why did these matches fall onto the floor?,” I am thinking of the endless possibilities. “The last time this closet was cleared out. This is where I was asking a man where he was and to guide me through this journey. He appeared to be a way out, but we all know there is no way out of this”, I sit quietly on the floor contemplating.
Frantically, I pick up all the particles that had collected in this dusty floor. “How long had I been sitting there? They all must go! Finding the perfect way will be the challenge. The matches!” as I scramble up off the floor and hurry to execute my plan.