I don't know yet .

Often I find myself staring at the doors of different houses on the streets. A mild obsession you might call it when I do that and wonder what stories I might find behind the closed space, what tales of journeys, of suffering and disease, what steps of growth and trysts with strangers, what thought processes and dreams made in the air. Tales of the passage of time within the fleeting second , going unrealized as though by failing to recognise it, the very thing ceases to exist. Tales of songs , dance and merry made to forget boiling present and reminisce about the past , of budding flowers and ripening fruits, old man's tales and sealed coffins of cedar. Trips to temples to witness the melee and solitude found on footsteps of the church or the long winding calls of prayers from neighbourhood mosques instilling in humans, reminders of God. To make folks on their pilgrims see human nature and those sealing business deals skip a heartbeat. The doors remain both open and closed, depends on which side of Schrödinger's cat you are, whether you choose yee side of the door or not.

Blue doors in particular have a special place in my heart, a fondness that stems from missing people, places, pets, thought processes, things and connections. They seem to encompass the entirety of such a feeling, leaving you almost at a loss for words, reminding you of transient human existence , some test against time. Weeds growing out from cracks of old buildings, that remain inhabited by a multitude of people ,all holding onto thoughts that blurs the chance of the cracks widening and their home collapsing. 

What do we see with these eyes of ours? 

Instigation , blue skies, clouds rushing by, mosquito on skin, silence , s p a c e , movements and wind, lightening and flickers, a plethora of senses hitting our mind, trickling and flowing , seeping in and rooting, piercing and staying. Each day another infinite possibilities flicker past this screen of ours and yet we choose, decide to engage with the ones that we do. 

Gateways to the soul, eyes speak they say.

Are we listening?