I write this as myself.

I write this knowing full well that no one knows what to expect from this.

I write this for myself (but, of course, also for creative writing).

I write this with my mind open to – with my pen ready for – anything.

“We’re in a room. A room with white black walls that, though it has no light source, it’s perfectly bright and, though it’s perfectly bright, it’s nice and dark so it won’t wake you up. It’s the perfect temperature – it’s perfect. Everyone is asleep, waiting in the shadows.”

I heard this voice, and though I was just waking up, I will always remember how every word was said. I sat up, opening my eyes. Suddenly, the room was very warm. My mind felt stressed. The room was empty. It was horribly warm. Even though it was exactly the same as the voice had informed me, it was nothing like it.

I did not question how I got there.

Calming myself, the room also cooled and seemed to glow slightly blue- as earlier it had seemed red.

I had plenty of time alone to think and experiment in that room. I found out new things very often, but there was still plenty to learn. There will always be more to learn.

Though I had figured out most of what this room was about, I craved more. I craved a doorway through which I could reach other rooms, through which I could communicate.

My previous knowledge of everything was right there. I began to think – to place puzzle pieces together as I formed an idea that – most only to me – seemed highly possible.

Then I heard voices. I saw nothing, but I heard voices. Looking towards the wall it was coming from, I recognized every voice – knew every personality as no one else here could.

And they knew me.

So excited that I could hear them, they informed me that their door, their door frame, their lock, their key (needed, though unwanted) – everything was in place. They basically said “we’re ready when you’re ready.”

I needed more time to think- more time. I obsessed. I was never thinking of anything else – always talking to them. I was the connection. The window. The traveler.

I began to debate with myself. I soon had a small list. I had to get it right. I called out – and the frame appeared. I was grateful.

We began to think together. I called out again and the lock appeared. We stayed away from the lock. “The lock is just a filthy liar.”

Soon we had the frame, the door, the lock, and even, weird enough, a knocker for extra help.

The frame began to get annoyed. She complained that she was “stuck with simple details.” She claimed that we had put her “up against the short rail” and that we were all “failures.”

The frame claimed that she was betrayed because, even though it seemed I called her first, I had already “pre-ordered” the door. The door kept silent. The frame wore herself out.

Standing in that room seemed to last forever. Yes, we had the door frame and the door – even the lock! But obviously something was missing: The key.

I felt we were “just behind the border,” that the key was “perfectly in order,” even “with its perfect little sorter!” It was being watched over, I felt.

As much as we obsessed, we could not find out where the key was.

And I needed sleep.

Now- I awaken with a small voice. It tells me many new things already.

“This room is not as it was. This room is cool, is warm, is bright, is dark, is everything, is nothing. This room is and isn’t anything from before. Though it seems something was here – this wall has a cover. Why can’t I move the cover?” And the voice whimpers and tells me and I listen so patiently.

My eyes open. I see nothing. It feels purple. I’ve paused my progress. I’ve given up on the key. I’ve given up on the search – they’ve given up on me.

“The frame is stuck with simple details;

The door is pre-ordered;

The lock – a filthy liar;

The key is perfectly in order.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The key is perfectly in order xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The frame is stuck with simple details

With its perfect little sorter xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx All the simple small impales

In a drawer that is shorter xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx It’s stuck against the short rail

Than the door that I pre-ordered. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Not for sale – oh, not for sale

It’s all perfectly in order xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx and I’m pale – we’ve all failed

So I feel I get the shorter

End of the deal – behind the border

xxxxxxx

The lock is getting sick and tired

Of always being admired

When it’s just a filthy liar:

The lock started the fire.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I read this – learning about my true self.

I read this knowing I’m the only one who will ever fully understand it – no matter how much I explain.

I read this aloud to myself.

I read this – and it’s real.

I read this. I read this again. I obsess.

This is my "autobiography" thing for my creative writing class. My mom read this and classified it as "abstract writing" so I guess that's what I've been writing recently. I just wrote this, so it's fresh X3

Critisism and comments are encouraged. Really.

It's perfectly ok if you don't completely understand it. -nods-

(Also, I had a cool format, but fictionpress wouldn't let me save it like that. -.- )