Tardis

There is a Tardis in my closet.

Yes, outside may look normal.

A small and normal door on a blank and normal wall.

Nothing out of the ordinary, but open the door and walk right in.

Then, and only then you will truly see an ample room, too big than normal.

It's a hiatus of time, but it's also a room with fragments from another time and another me.

Antiques, with no monetary value, only personal.

A glimpse of the past, that when looked back at more revelations and meanings come into view.

For then, I was too naive in this world of confusing conundrums.

My closet is a Tardis, but I don't mind it.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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