A find of something lost brings a break in the pattern.

It was time.

She faced the thick wooden door
with great pause
believing that once opened,
everything she knew
would never again be
as she knew it.

Her name
would change.

The faces most familiar
would become nothing
more than a déjà vu.
Her very essence
may not be memorable
enough to rise to the surface

And again.

She’d been at this door
before awaiting
the exact moment to grip
the harsh metal pull
and push

Each time she stood
before this passage,
she studied the intricate carvings
with an intensity intended
to imprint their path
onto her consciousness.

It never worked.

She reached out
And gently ran
her fingers over each crease,
traced the outline of each shape.
She maneuvered through
the labyrinth of smooth edges
and rough cracks
anticipating each turn in direction,
creating an eerie dance
between flesh and wood.
Until she reached
the end.

It was time.

She pushed.

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