You push the door and it spins, and you don't even look at it. You just walk through like it's nothing.
Do you remember? We stood outside the tall glass building and watched it turn by itself, catching people and letting them go, catching them and letting them go. It looked like a machine that ate people politely and spit them out somewhere better. We thought only important people got to use it. We practiced walking tall so we'd be ready.
Now you go through it every morning holding a cup of coffee and a bag, thinking about something else. Your face doesn't change. You've done it a thousand times.
But here's what I saw. When you stepped into the little glass wedge, just for one second, you were alone in there. Nobody could reach you. The whole loud street was on the outside and you were sealed in a slow spinning bubble, moving forward whether you pushed or not.
We used to spin around in the yard until we fell down laughing. You've found a way to keep spinning and never fall.
I know you have a lot to carry now. I saw the bag. I saw your shoulders.
But could you do one thing for me? Next time, go around twice. Just once, go around twice on purpose.
I promise nobody will know it was for me.