The Quiet Of Having Forgotten What I Came Here To Do

My hand has the weight of someone else's hand. I reach into my pocket and find a small, black key with an engraving. The engraving is like a window into another room, and I am looking through it, up at a bookshelf full of stories. They are mine now. My footsteps carry me out of the house and onto the pavement. It is twilight. A dark blue thread leads from my front gate down the road to a white rectangle that appears to be the airport. I follow the thread without looking, through the twilight into the waiting rectangle. The engraving becomes faint. It fades from view as I pass between its two borders.