The Dimension Behind the Door

If you’re receiving this, you previously subscribed to my writing on Substack. I’m on Ghost now. I also went fully anonymous on Substack. A few friends, welcome to the other side of me. It's Hawtorn V. Rabot, HVR, though a few of you know my real name.

I ache.

I knew it would happen. I knew better. I did it anyway.

It’s happened before. Yet, I still chose it.

I walk by the door to that dimension multiple times a day. I know what happens if I open it. It’s even worse if I walk through it.

I see the door, and I keep walking. I might even admire that door and wonder about that dimension. Picture it. Imagine it. Wonder about it.

I don’t open it. I learned long ago not to. I’ve walked through it only a few times in my life. A few. Only regrets.

People sing about that dimension. Write about it. Make money off of it. That dimension dominates most of the world as we know it. At least the idea of that dimension.

I know that dimension, though, and it only wounds. Scars.

I gasp. Try to find my breath. Look for what’s left of a pulse. In the shadow of what was once a shadow of me.

It’s too late.

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I didn’t just stop at the door. I didn’t just open the door and look; no, I walked through it. And now I must pay.

I chose to walk through.

I chose to love.

I still do. I hate that I do. I’m smarter than this.

I tried to be casual. I tried to be fun. I tried to be detached. I tried to play around the door without looking at it. Without touching it.

I knew what I was doing. I knew the rules. I knew how to remain who I wanted to be.

So here I am, attached. Stuck. In agony. Shaking at what happened after I walked through that door to that awful dimension.

If I’d stayed cool and calm, I never would’ve walked through that door, and I’d have been a better version of me. I’d have been more pleasant. I’d have hurt you less.

But that wasn’t good enough. I should’ve turned back when you insisted I walk through that door. I should’ve pretended. Why didn’t I lie?

I made the choice to walk through it. I decided on that dimension.

Now I go to sleep thinking of you. Scratch that. I lie awake thinking of you.

It’s done. It’s been over. Yet still I reach for you. It never would’ve happened if I’d stayed away from that door.

Only you can take this pain away. You, the one who pushed me to that dimension. At least for a moment.

Ultimately, I’ll need you to put me down.

It’s the only way
to make
my love
stop.

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This piece is in response to the prompt by Labyrinthia Mythweaver.