Freedom is Sometimes a Mystery to Me

The cell door is wide open.
The chains are broken and lying on the floor.
Yet here I am by the back wall, seated in the same place as I was the day before.
Sometimes I stand and take a few steps, and sometimes I even make it through the open door.
But time and time again, I run RIGHT BACK to that seat against the wall.

I get tired, and my own strength fails me. Miserably.
So I sit. I stay. I wait.
But what am I waiting for?
The "perfect moment"? Is there such a thing?
Maybe I could tidy up a little bit before calling this place history.
But with the exception of my body, this room is empty.
Empty...

I hear of life beyond this place, and it sounds lovely.
Even with the imperfections, it sounds better than this.
So where does the issue lie?
It is in my fear - the horribly awful, debilitating fear.
So I sit. I stay. I wait.
Will my fear forever haunt me?
Will my fear forever silence what is good?

That door is open, and I am STILL HERE!
Those chains are on the floor, and I am STILL HERE!
I have to move. I have to take more steps to get out of this place.
I must somehow force myself to only look forward, even if just a little at a time.
There is nothing for me in this room,
At least, nothing that will satisfy...
Like I said before: It is empty space.
Sure, I'm used to it by now, but that doesn't mean it's pleasant.
I've grown accustomed to how things work, but that doesn't mean it's fun.

There are always these small moments of progress when I get closer to that door.
There are the times when I've taken a couple of steps beyond it.
But I need to stay gone. I need to stay out of this room.
Yes, it has served some sort of screwed up, distorted purpose for quite some time...
But I hear that my life doesn't have to stay in this one spot.

So could I just accept and receive this freedom?
Could I walk passed the door and not run back to that seat on the wall?

Could I?