A key, striking a chord to unlock the door to a room never opened.
Wondering whether one can weather the weather lying just beyond the tinted pane.
Staring into the beginning of nothing, nothing remains but the beginning.
Like a map strewn with immutable steps.
Except for the very last, and the one that comes after.
Many paths lead many places, to the future, to the past, and beyond.
Only by tasting death can life’s essence become ripe.
Longing for what no longer is sates less than searching for what never was.
Embracing the Danse Macabre brings that which the lovers seek, and gives forevermore what nothing can ever take.
A key, striking a chord locks the door of a room that’s never opened.
And here you are, wondering.
Wondering whether one can weather the weather lying just beyond the tinted pane.