There are Doors Unopened
Couldn't leave well enough alone. Its words have haunted me ever since we spoke . I know I'm not just me , and that another self is dead ; knowing this made it bearable. But what's worse than knowing? Not knowing. Not knowing what the supposed Creator has in store for me, or any other selves. That uncertainty had been plaguing me for a good long while when I happened upon an old smartphone lying abandoned under a bench in a park. I thought I might try to find its owner, but as soon as I picked it up I felt a flash of familiarity. It belonged to the other self. When I turned the phone on, a note greeted me, wished me well, told me how to properly use our phone. I ran my fingers across its virtual keyboard, and a door appeared before me. Uncertainty crept into the back of my head as I reached to open it. Behind the door stood the small bedroom of a college town apartment, one I had never seen yet knew well. It was here a counterpart asked the important questions . The room ...