Crossing the Threshold

By an anonymous survivor

As questions do, it started small—
A nagging truth that wouldn’t fit.
From there, questions grew and spread:
Why? Why not? Do I dare find out?

Then came the hush;
Meant to stifle, to lighten the meaning.
But silence only starved the questions
Devouring my sleep, clawing through dreams,
Until I was half-mad from not knowing.

Friends appeared—once silenced too—
And pointed to a door I’d always known
Small, unassuming, yet long feared.
Now it welcomed me through.

Inside, gifts gleamed in golden rows,
Each bound with a question,
Each holding a precious answer within.
As I unwrapped them, they changed me.
Answers always do.

When I emerged, I found this truth
About questions, hushes, and doors:
I cannot unhear.
I cannot unknow.
I cannot give my answers
To those who aren’t ready—
Or they will crumble, brittle in my hands.

So here I stay at the threshold, a story-keeper,
Guardian between known and unknown,
Patiently waiting for the next seeker
To lead through the door when they’re ready.