At Last The Doorway

A threadbare carpet, dim and musty walls,
A few stray lightbulbs left to flicker on,
An emptiness as tangible as touch,
And something like an orange-blossom scent,
As measuredly, unsteadily I step
To reach at last the doorway. There I pause,
For knowing who is on the other side,
I breathe in my surroundings, deep and slow,
And wish my character was not my fate —
I wish my character
Was not

My fate

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