Two Doors

Two doors stand in front of me. There is one on the left, and one on the right. I didn't want to give up either door. Which to choose? I had no way to open either door. But which was a correct choice?

Two doors stand in front of me. There is one on the left, and one on the right.

On the right, the door is ornate. It is carved with exquisite details and etchings. The wood it is made out of is light and supple, but the door is sturdy.

On the left, the door is plain, but not boring. The wood is rich, dark, stained, with swirling patterns of grain. It is heavy, but looks well-oiled.

On the right, the door knob is a bright, shiny gold. I can see my reflection in it, and as I grasp it, it's warm to the touch. It feels new, but like it's known well- not in the sense that the door has been used much, but that those who had passed through it cared for it dearly.
I felt connected to this door. I felt warm. I felt almost welcomed. I smoothed the palm of my hand over the wood, basking in the heat. For part of me, this was what I wanted. Past this door was something I looked forward to.

But I could see the other door in my peripheral vision. It was always there, no matter how minute.
I didn't want to choose! I didn't have to choose! I shouldn't have to choose! I shouldn't base all this on these two doors!

But so much, I wanted to have one. If anything, it would be this one...this one that feels so right. But is it so wrong to want this so much? To dream of it? Some part of me tells me I should step back and reevaluate.

When I pulled my hand away, my fingers hadn't tarnished the shine.

On the left, the door knob is much different. It is a silvery metal, but tarnished and beaten in at the sides. Upon closer inspection, I can see imperfections in the door. But it was nothing I couldn't help. When I took grasp of the knob, it was cool to the touch, but not cold. It seemed chilled in the way that things are left be for a period of time. But I could tell the door had been through lots of wear; it was the most common choice between the two doors.
But the door felt right, too. Not as strong as the other, but there was something about this door. All I wondered, was if it could be enough. Would I be satisfied without knowing what lied at the other side of the door on the right?
Did I want to?

I didn't want to give up either door.

I stepped back and shifted my gaze from one to the other.
Which to choose? Even now, I didn't hold the key to either. I had no way to open either door.
But which was right? Neither was wrong, though one was possibly more common than the other.

I closed my eyes, then reopened them.

These two doors do not matter.

For I am in a torture chamber. Facets of mirrors line the walls, and reflect myself back to my eyes.
But each section is different. In every reflection, there is something different about it.
When I reach out my arm, thousands of reflections do the same.
I let it drop, and the doppelgangers, the twins, follow.

Who am I really, if I can't tell who I am?

Author's Note

pic by semuta on deviantart