You see things you think you didn’t. Signs of loving you, lusting you, wanting to be with you, wanting to be you, wanting, waiting, longing— out of the corner of your eye, unconvinced that they were there. Invisible notions of authenticity go unnoticed while ghosts of skewed realities pass you by, leaving an everlasting chill. Spirits of past mistakes forever wander the same hallways, always wondering if they’ll move onto the next life and finally be forgotten. Encrypted messages painted in red on the walls. You know what the drip drop of blood means.

Get out.

You find yourself in a room full of fun house mirrors with no warning. Losing track of the way out, losing track of who you are. With no way to know if the mirror reflecting a grotesque, distorted image of you is the actuality of what others see. No way to know if the mirror showing you standing taller above the rest is your inner desire or the future, because in that moment you just feel small. The only way to know the image of truth is to know the essence of faith, whatever that may mean to you.

After unknown twists and turns, we open doors to brick walls and eight story deadly drops, only despair waiting at the ground. We turn corners to find miniature doors we can’t fit through, but knowing our destination is on the other side. Taking a sledgehammer to the walls is the only way to get through, but to deliberately destroy what you handcrafted takes a particular strength you lost somewhere along the way. We find ourselves continually climbing a staircase until we realize the door at the top is only becoming farther away. Windows give you a view of unreachable places while hands reach towards you, idly and helpless.

Life is like a house of horrors and there is no way to navigate through without getting lost and putting your all into survival.