the ellipsis short of two dots

imagine this
:

you are walking
down a deserted lane
with dimly lit shops
and the smell of urine
as your only companion
and you know you’re close
home
so you’re less vigilant
and you start
looking for the keys
and you don’t look
with your eyes
but with your rough hands

those poor hands
they’ve touched a lot of
angry words today
everytime you shut them
up

but yeah,
you look for your keys
and your hands brush
past
something
that feels like a dog-eared book

maybe

it’s been a while since
you touched one
but you’re sure
this
instigates
the new
and reminds
you
of the old
all at once

like something
your hands have forgotten
to feel
due to excess familiarity

they also feel
themselves
getting aroused by
the remains of
a dead flower
you had once
mindlessly left in your tote bag

but yeah,
you look for
you keys
and the shops are about
to come to an end
you’re about to walk
into a lane
that doesn’t smell
of someone’s pee

and suddenly
you stand
opposite
a beautiful
building with glass
windows and no bars
obstructing your
suicidal
intentions
arched with a name
you’ve read somewhere
with keys that fit
the hole
but something

something feels strange

you don’t know how to get in
you don’t know if you should
put your right foot in first
or kneel down
with the help of those
rough hands
that have touched
a lot of angry words
in recent times
you don’t know
what the rules
are
and even though
you pride yourself
on not playing by the rules
it scares you:
to not know
if once you
cross this gate
there is ever a coming back

you know this is it
you end here
now
in front of a gate
that reads your name
or something
you’ve heard someone
call after you
on the day you
blew candles and
got gifts in exchange of hugs

but you don’t know
how to begin
again

and again

because
honestly
you are better
off smelling pee on
the
streets
and finding keys
that never fit

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