The door that doesn’t stop

Rain slides down glass, fractured lines

caught in the spin of a door

that never stops, never waits.

Feet blur in a tangled river,

faces half-turned, missing eye contact,

like waves folding into themselves.

Someone bumps me—quick apology

lost in the whirl.

I step forward,

then back,

caught in the endless cycle.

Outside is never still.

Inside is the same,

a loop of steel and glass

that spits you out,

then pulls you back.

No pause.

No rest.

Just the door,

and the rain that can’t decide to fall or stay.