Like a Life put on Hold

There are things unsaid, left there like some invisible object we know is there, but cannot touch for fear of some sharp hot shock. Each of us walks warily around it, sensing the danger and fearing the consequences. Deep within each of us there is the unpleasant hope that if someone is going to stumble into the invisible and set it all off then let it not be me, let it be the other one. We go treading warily around this same room where all our future possibilities lie under these dust sheets like a life put on hold.

There was a time when we could have danced together, oblivious, through this room. A time when there was no invisible presence inhibiting our every move and every word. There was a time when this room held our future bright in the sunlight streaming in through breeze-blown curtains at the open window.

Now the curtains are closed and the furniture is draped in mourning. This door is kept closed in case that invisible object that fills the space inside should somehow spread and grow out into the rest of our lives; in case it should spread and grow until it fills every inch of our days. Growing until we have nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but turn together and face it.