A man lies in his bed in a room with no door.
He waits hoping for a presence, something, anything, to enter.
After spending half his life searching, he still felt as blank as the ceiling at which he stared.
He is alive, but feels absolutely nothing.
So is he?
When he was six, he believed that the moon over head followed him.
By nine, he had deciphered the allusion, trading magic for fact.
No trade backs.
So this is what it's like to be an adult.
If he only knew now what he knew then.

I'm open.
I'm open.
Come on in, come on in.
Come on in, come on in.
I'm open.
I'm open.
Come on in, come on in.
Come on in, come on in.

Lying sideways atop crumpled sheets with no covers.
He decides to dream, dream up a new self for himself.