Monty Hall

The sky didn’t open—you did. That’s what He said. And suddenly, silence stopped pretending it was empty. Eyes locked to an alien like it was trendy— But the alien was memory, dressed in something friendly. A silent scream’s polka-dotted bow tie is world-endly. He offered me a mirror wrapped in a question gently. It read: “If you’ll let me? Lay still and let me rock your world.” But I had earthquakes in my chest I never learned to hurl. I don’t know if he got my letter, but I sent one back— Written in breath, sealed in a panic attack. It read: “If I am the curtain… then who pulled me back?” Illusory energy, you steal my thunder, Turned me into static so you’d feel like wonder. Truth knits a sweater of desire, But leaves the tag on, tangled in the wire. Return policy reads: “No refunds for souls that chose silence over schemes.” This curtain is yours, when you return to your dreams. Just knock twice on the seam where the fabric still breathes