Thursday

There will always be a Light under the door.

It will shine brightly, waiting to be recognized and cherished. You see, I have a weakness. There are too many Februarys, despite the bits of rose petals and crystallized sugars woven into the layers of my hair.

How many times have I stood before this door, admiring the cracks in the walls where exposed tree roots wind around the chandelier, climb the staircase like a trellis. I have become a part of the sprawl, ankles and wrists bound and burdened by false tomorrows.

It just breathes through me, this Light, pulsing in prismatic heartbeats. I could touch it with my toes, but… it could break away, shatter, ride a wave to another horizon. I couldn’t bear to lose it, this elusive promise of jeweled solvency.

The Light will always shine under this door, beckoning me, and I know I can never follow it. In order to believe that it will never go away, I must deny it deep into the Nairobi night.

About S.L. Schmitz

S.L. Schmitz lives in Indian Trail, NC with her husband and son. There is an ever-changing menagerie of cats who graciously allow the family to share the house with them. In addition to reading and writing, she enjoys scrapbooking, drinking martinis, and making snarky comments about a variety of topics. Feel free to email her at thedeadgirl25(at)yahoo(dot)com

Posted on February 20, 2012, in About Me and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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