She knew this walk all too well. She knew where she would end up and how many steps it would take to be in the light. She didn’t love life. She didn’t hate it. There was just that.
Amazing how life could be so mundane yet entrenched in the extraordinary. The old walls held secrets and she wanted to be in the know.
She pulled out her baton from the grocery bag, scratched her hand till it bled and smeared her blood on the almost-hidden door.
This was home. She had to make it hers.
Categories: architecture, gender, identity, masks, mental health, photography, Psychology, women, writing prompt
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