At Some Point In Life [We All Become Memories For Others]
I reach for the door handle as a normal woman, a woman with a normal life. Then that door opens, creaking on its hinges revealing a long, mellow sunbeam stretching out from the window across the floor.
And then the shadows swing through it like the pendulum of a clock; counting down.
I imagine the destruction of that normal life as more of an unraveling - pieces of the old me slowly crumbling away with every moment.
Madison