The gate was iron.

It was heavy.

It was cold.

I stood before it.

My hands trembled.

The wind was sharp.

It cut through my wool coat.

I felt the chill in my bones.

The stone wall was high.

It was grey.

It was endless.

The sky above was pale.

It offered no comfort.

I looked down at my shoes.

They were muddy.

They were worn.

I had walked a long way.

I had walked all night.

My feet ached.

My heart ached.

I was tired.

I was alone.

The gate did not move.

It did not creak.

It was silent.

I waited.

I waited for a long time.

The birds began to sing.

They were small.

They were black.

They sang in the thorn bushes.

Their song was thin.

It sounded like a warning.

I did not understand.

I pressed my palm against the iron.

It was smooth.

It was dead.

I thought of my brother.

I thought of his face.

His eyes were dark.

His mouth was tight.

He had not spoken to me in years.

He had cast me out.

He had locked the gate.

He had said I was wrong.

He had said I was bad.

I did not argue.

I had nothing to say.

I was hungry.

I was cold.

I was lost.

The sun rose slowly.

It was red.

It looked like blood.

It did not warm the stone.

It did not warm me.

I saw a figure in the window.

It was far away.

It was small.

I could not see its face.

I knew it was him.

I knew it was my brother.

He stood there.

He watched me.

He did not come down.

He did not open the door.

He was a statue.

He was a ghost.

I looked away.

I looked at the ground.

The grass was wet.

The dew was cold.

I felt a tear fall.

It hit the dirt.

It made a small mark.

I wiped my face.

I had no handkerchief.

I used my sleeve.

The wool was rough.

It scratched my skin.

I felt pain.

The pain was good.

It was real.

The silence was heavy.

It pressed on my chest.

I could not breathe.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to shout his name.

I knew it would do no good.

He would not hear me.

He would not care.

I was a stranger to him.

I was a shadow.

I was a mistake.

The gate remained closed.

The iron was cold.

The stone was hard.

I was small.

I was weak.

I wanted to turn away.

I wanted to walk back into the dark.

I wanted to disappear.

But I could not.

I was rooted.

My feet were stuck.

The earth held me.

The sky held me.

I was trapped.

I looked at the window again.

The figure was still there.

It had not moved.

It was watching.

It was judging.

I felt a anger rise.

It was hot.

It was bright.

It burned in my throat.

I wanted to break the gate.

I wanted to tear it down.

I wanted to show him.

I wanted to show them all.

I was not weak.

I was not bad.

I was here.

I was real.

I raised my hand.

I raised my fist.

I was ready.

I was strong.

I was alive.

But I did not hit the gate.

I lowered my hand.

My arm dropped.

My fist unclenched.

The anger faded.

It did not leave.

It went deeper.

It went into the stone.

It went into the earth.

I stood there.

I was still.

I was quiet.

The wind stopped.

The birds stopped.

The world held its breath.

I waited.

I waited for the truth.

I waited for the key.

I knew it would not come.

I knew he would not open the door.

I knew the gate was not iron.

I knew the gate was inside.

It was in my heart.

It was in his heart.

We were locked out.

We were locked in.

We were together.

We were apart.

I closed my eyes.

I felt the cold.

I felt the pain.

I felt the love.

It was there.

It was heavy.

It was dark.

It was mine.

I opened my eyes.

The sun was higher.

The light was bright.

It hurt my eyes.

I saw the gate clearly.

It was not iron.

It was wood.

It was old.

It was rotting.

It was breaking.

The planks were splintered.

The nails were loose.

It was falling apart.

It was dying.

I saw the door in the gate.

It was open.

It was wide open.

There was no lock.

There was no key.

There was no barrier.

It had never been closed.

It had never been locked.

I had seen the lock.

I had seen the iron.

But it was a lie.

It was a dream.

It was my fear.

It was my guilt.

I walked forward.

My steps were light.

My heart was slow.

I walked through the gate.

I did not look back.

I did not look at the window.

I knew he was there.

I knew he would never come out.

I knew I would never go back.

The gate fell behind me.

The wood cracked.

The sound was sharp.

It echoed in the yard.

The dust rose.

The dust settled.

I walked on.

The path was narrow.

The path was dark.

It led into the house.

The house was silent.

The house was empty.

The house was waiting.

I felt a presence.

It was cold.

It was familiar.

It was my brother.

He was not in the window.

He was in the air.

He was in the dust.

He was in the silence.

We were one.

We were two.

We were the house.

We were the gate.

We were the key.

We were the lock.

I stood in the center of the room.

The floor was bare.

The walls were white.

The light was soft.

I felt a tear fall.

It hit the floor.

It made a small sound.

I wiped my face.

I used my sleeve.

The wool was rough.

It scratched my skin.

I felt pain.

The pain was good.

It was real.

I was alone.

I was free.

I was trapped.

I was home.

The gate was gone.

The iron was gone.

The stone was gone.

I was here.

I was real.

I was alive.

The wind blew.

The wind was cold.

The wind was warm.

It did not matter.

I was here.

I was alone.

I was free.

I was trapped.

I was home.

The story ends.

The gate is open.

The door is open.

The heart is open.

The truth is out.

The light is in.

The dark is gone.

The silence is gone.

The sound is here.

The pain is here.

The love is here.

The end is here.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here.