Changing Faces

A corridor of closed white wooden doors stretch out before me; there seems to be no limit, the horizon a grain of sand in the distance. Swinging my head behind me, I see the same is true, as the doors stretch on forever.

Except.

There is one door that's ajar in the far distance, a light draft causing it to swing soundlessly. Suddenly, to my right, there's a knock on the door.

I know someone's behind there, but I don’t know her. She's a stranger to me. I know what she brings, and it's possibly the scariest thing I'll ever face. I don’t know if I want to let her in. What might happen after is irreversible.

I'm scared.

I know her face, but I don’t recognise her. There are slight differences which create a foreign picture. The way she stands, the uptilt of her head, the smile on her lips and the twinkle in her eye.

She's so different. She's me. What I could be. What I want to be.

She brings new beginnings, the end of old stories, the change of paths which lead to a different place. I'm not sure if it's better than the one I'm currently on.

I'm scared to try. I'm petrified to miss out.

Life is a series of stumbling steps, wondering in the dark with no clear direction in mind. All opportunities are lights just dancing in the distances, doors waiting to be opened; we’re often too scared to reach out to them.

I think I've been stuck in this corridor long enough; I open the door and take her hand.