Poker Faces, Phones, People, Pasts

   Alright, here I am. I don't recognize this place but I definitely have a sense that I've been here before. Now, I'm standing in a hallway filled with doors. All are locked but I have the keys, and I can only open one. Hands clenching, I ponder, why only one door? Why not two, three, or four? Do I choose the one closest to me or the one furthest away? The one who's door has all the answers or the one who's path will lead me to the answers.

   Alright, here I am. I wonder if you ever think of me; you probably do. But your poker face masks your feelings-oh so well. I still think of you, sadly. But not with anger or pride, but instead with a nostalgic pull at those memories. 

           Alright, enough of that sap. The tree has more to offer like leaves, twigs, and shade. Oh, it's also beautiful. Did I fail to mention its beauty? How rude of me, the tree is very vain so I suppose I'll mention it has the key to my heart. 

    Alright, I know I'm not making sense. I make sense to me though, and I guess that's all that matters. Poor Eleanor Rigby, such lonely people. You're not outdated, or forgotten. You're just under-appreciated. I appreciate you though. Thanks for your existence!  Kudos on just plummeting through the vast sea, like an otter or penguin, delving fast and far into the unknown. You would do that. I envy you for that. I couldn't even open a damn door.