A key resting in a locked door has endless potential.
The door is either holding me in or keeping me out. The key either belongs to me or it doesn't. At rest, this key is either a safe haven or prison guard. In motion it opens the world and sets me free. Or it lets the world in when I'm not looking.
But as I sit in this chair across the room reading I can hear the key turn. The lock click. The door open. And with a racing heart I can hear the footprints of a stranger walking closer.
A key resting in a locked door has endless potential. It either keeps the warm in or brings in the cold. At rest, this key locks out the bad and safe guards the good. In motion it lets the world in when I'm not looking.
Over the pages of a book I see his feet, rain water dripping on his boots from an army green parka.
It was just a key resting in a locked door.
In motion it released it's potential.
