The gaps I try to avoid

I love my heels, desperately so. The elevator is opening new doors. Shall I wait by the stairs or shall I go?

There's a shoebite building up on my smallest toe. I'm wearing my favourite heels today, it makes me feel pretty. I needed it, I didn't feel pretty otherwise. But they are giving me a shoebite. I want to believe these heels aren't like all my other shoes, how do I? It is proving the opposite. It's alright, the bite isn't too bad and I'm almost home. I should be okay. It's cold outside today, the sun feels good on my skin. If only it would shine a little brighter. It's uncomfortable as I walk to the lift. I don't even consider the stairs. I press the calling button and stand still as it descends to the basement.

When I am still, it doesn't hurt. The lift arrives; you have no idea how quick I would like to get home. To my greatest pleasure, there's no one in there and no one beside me. I watch my step as I walk in, my heels look so good. I can't believe I was thinking about not wearing them anymore. I love them. I press the number 12 and lean against the back of the cuboid. There's a tendency of things to move slower than usual when you notice them. The doors of the lift move from either side of the frame, gradually meeting each other at the center. The gap I tried to avoid is now filled. The lift must ascend, after all, I pressed the button that demanded it to. The algorithm states I move up and nowhere else. There's a small knot in my throat that disappears as soon as I realise it was there. As there's the slightest change in stability, my heart drops to my stomach. I knew it was coming, so why am I still scared? Maybe I should have stayed at the basement a little while longer. It might have helped me process the fear a little more.

I watch the numbers on the tiny screen in the corner. The pixels alternate as the lift moves higher. No one gets on or off, I am still leaning against the lift wall. The eleventh floor approaches, I can finally go home. I straighten up. As the lift locks into the twelfth floor, it seems as if my heart too, has bounced back up into its rightful place. Still, I don't feel at ease. The doors separate, creating distance at the center. They don't like each other - for now. The gap they filled seems to have widened. I look down, avoid the gap and walk out onto the floor. I watch as my heels carry me out, so engrossed, I forget about the doors that meet at the center behind me. 

These aren't the same doors as the ones below, they act the same way, but they are definitely not the same. The tile in the corridor is not the same either, fewer people come here. There's no one around. I recognise the wall in front of me. This is not the way home. The heels carry me once again, out towards the corridor.

The sun is shining on the stairs, at an angle of gold. It brings out the brown of the rust, as it would to my eyes. The freshly washed tile of each step seems warm. A regretful retrospection strikes, I should have taken the stairs. My skin would have met the sun, I would have spent more time in my favourite heels. The shoebite would have gotten worse, yes; my skin would be warmer. A trade. A valuable trade. 

The view out of the common window offers me an entire skyline, the stairs call to me. 

"Just take a break, lay here for a while"

How do I explain that I would love to sit down, take off my heels, and enjoy the sun and somehow - I can't? I have a shoebite and I am cold, yet I cannot make my way there. Seemingly paralyzed and scared, I am a coward to golden stairs.

I shamefully walk past towards the door. I no longer need a signboard towards it. I know the door number by heart. I have not noticed it in ages. It may even not be there at all. Does it matter, I'm already here. It isn't home. It isn't the same. Home doesn't have a number on it, the door worn in with the knocks of the neighbours. The plants used to wait outside. They loved the sun in the winter as much as me. The welcome mat hides in the gloomy shadows of the apartment walls. I sound the bell; it rings, only once. The door was left unlocked. I turn the handle and enter, I don't need to push against it anymore. The tile is different too. It's an ivory white and I miss the blemishes it had at home. There isn't a window at home anymore, only a sliding door. Sliding doors that fill the gaps I try to avoid. 

I take off my heels, I don't know when I will wear them again. I have a bad feeling this might be the last. I close the door behind me and come in. It's not home. It won't be.