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The door that locks itself?

 There’s something about doors. They are simple things.Wood, metal, hinges but in our minds, they are everything. They are choices, they are possibilities, they are exits and entrances. A door is never just a door. It’s a moment frozen in time, an intersection between what was and what could be.


We open doors every day without thinking. We close them just as easily. But what if we don’t just close them? What if, without realizing, we lock them from the inside?


There’s a strange kind of deception in believing we’re waiting for a knock when, in reality, we’ve barricaded ourselves in. We sit there, waiting, blaming fate, blaming timing, blaming God, blaming the universe never once considering that the very hands clasped in frustration are the same ones that turned the key and left it there.


And sometimes, when we do decide to open it, we find it jammed. Stuck. Rusted at the hinges. Maybe it’s God’s way of saying, not this one, not now. Maybe it’s the universe whispering, not for you, not like this. Or maybe it’s us. Maybe we waited too long, let fear settle into the cracks until it became part of the frame. Maybe the door is stuck because we held it shut for so long that it forgot how to move.And idk about you guys, but I believe in God and the universe’s way a lot. A LOT. Idk how to stress it enough. You’ll somehow find yourself fixed exactly in front of the people who broke you. Maybe as a test. Maybe as proof that you healed. Or maybe just to show you that they never had the power you thought they did.


Have you ever tried to open something that hasn’t been touched in years? The dust, the resistance, the force it takes .it’s no different with our own lives. A door can’t stay closed forever without consequence.


And yet, here’s the terrifying thought: What if we’re the ones who built the whole damn room? What if, in all our waiting, all our hoping for a knock, we forgot to notice that the world outside moved on? That the person we were waiting for found another path? That the opportunity we kept hesitating on grew wings and flew?


And then we panic. We rattle the handle. We push, we shove, we beg for it to open, but the truth is some doors don’t open again. Not because of fate. Not because of destiny. But because they were never meant to be prisons in the first place.


We just made them that way.






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