A Key to Everything
Each key has its own history, its own past, and through its shapes and forms one can comfortably identify some of its diverse aspects. But how come this one appears to be so different from the rest of them? By embracing the glistening object into my right hand I noticed its infinitesimal size and frangible, delicate appearance, ceaselessly questioning its purpose. It could open a secret diary, a hidden locker, or simply one of the many white wooden house doors. I shuffled the object back and forth from one hand to the other, ignoring the countless times it fell noisily on the timber pavement, and none of my doubts were clarified or unveiled. What if it was used as a weight, a lucky charm, or as a bottle opener. Somehow, I couldn’t stop from bringing the key to life, giving it a story, and trying to answer the questions that remained unresolved. I had discovered its existence as I looked for my passport in one of the private bedroom drawers, as it pressed onto one of its sides, attached to it through masking tape. Why was it there? Another question that relentlessly occupied my thoughts. Someone must have forgotten it, or may hidden it too well for it to be found again. I considered it to be everything and anything, and finally abandoned the idea that it could have ever found its purpose and value again.
