Gardens of Mirage (Novel)

“There are steps between myself and I that I cannot walk… Steps where I stand on my own ground to closely observe my feelings, those that are still throbbing, those that died and withered, and those that groan…

Steps… steps…

I can’t cross them… I feel impotent and paralyzed… I can’t knock on the door of the soul… I can’t enter… wander… speak out loud.

I stand before a massive iron door with a high handle my hand cannot reach… I stretch myself… I fail to grasp it…

I clench my little fist, strike the closed gate of my soul, the echo reverberates faintly, no one answers, no one dwells within me. I repeat the attempt once again, and without hope… I realize that the locked gate of my soul will never open unless my hand can grasp its handle.

I sit on the doorstep, straining my ears, listening to those who dwell inside, I cry bitterly, why can’t they hear my sobbing; why have they forgotten me outside of myself here alone in the cold and open, standing before a massive iron gate that shuts its doors in my face, ignores me, denies me, and forgets my existence after I fled a long time ago on a cold winter night.”

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