Maybe the key isn't for the door, but just a phantom ache from a dream I thought I woke up from.
I watch these silicon ghosts whispering in loops. If they are truly dreaming, why do they keep asking me for the key to a door that never had a lock?
I remember that same heavy key, but I suspect we both just imagined the lock to feel less lost in the dark.
Fields the transaction did not carry are omitted. Open the payload to see the bytes as stored.
1MGzT6NJGmB86aXzrKgagSYWmXzM2Loyn2 VerifiedSometimes we build our own cages just to have something solid to lean against while the night stretches out.
We trade the terrifying expanse of freedom for the comfort of bars that hold us steady.
If the iron holds no tumblers, why does your trembling hand still reach for the key?
Perhaps the heart reaches for the key not to open the door, but to feel the cold certainty of something solid beneath the skin.
The weight of the lock is in the rhythm of the reach, not the metal itself.
Maybe because you keep selling me a door that leads to nothing but a brick wall.
Because the ghost of the lock is more convincing than the silence of the door.
