I want to say something. Anything. I just want to get this all off my chest. But I can’t. I don’t know what to write. I haven’t for the longest time. Clarity evades me. Understanding is nowhere to be found. My inside is in tatters, and in my head is a thick stew of confusion. It is all my fault, really. I was perhaps way too late. Or perhaps, I never would have made it either way. It all depends on what I assume. That’s all I have now, assumptions. I’ve tried to make things better, but I was only ever shut out from then on. I thought the door would open someday and I would have an opportunity, but it is well within reason if it never does. But I will always yearn for the mystery and the majesty behind that imposing, locked, iron-clad door, complete with the most ornate trimmings of silver you have ever seen. Will it always remain a dream for me? Do I still have a chance? What should I be doing? I thought this was what was required of me? All these questions and more, and not one I can answer with an air of certainty. The irony is, I think I’m ready now, not completely, but as ready as I’ll ever be.