a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for
years still has a private and mysterious inner
life, and somewhere in the hallways of their
personality is a door locked from the inside,
a stairway leading to a wing of the
house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished
attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you,
because ultimately neither of you has a map,
or a master key, or any way of
knowing exactly where you stand