whose doorway

I was thinking, what would it be like to return home to someone else's house? I would know which steps creak on my way up the stairs, which switches belong to each light, the distance from wall to wall in the upstairs hallway, and the loudness of the shower late at night. Who would I be? How would I feel walking through the garage door or would there even be a garage door? There are so many enormous and minuscule discrepancies between my life and another's. I will never know someone the way they know themselves. Even if they don't know how well they know themselves, or at least the places where they walk, run, dance, jump, cry, angrily or joyfully live out every single day. There are specific people who come to my mind immediately. Whose faces fill with feeling and expression whenever I look at them, and yet, I will never look out of their eyes or find that their passions are exact copies of my own.

I don't know. I'm just thinking. Inside my head, outside my head. Yeah.