Heavy Door Between Us

My feet are cold. The room feels old.
I’m haunted by something more. One after another.
I can’t stop them.
I can’t stop the wind from casting in the dust.
Like the words I’ve never said.
I can’t stop you from slamming the door shut.
Like it never exists between us.
I always wonder how unfair life is.
Trees bend on the windy costal farmland.
Tough but insecure.

I dream about having a new door in my room.
Soundproof. Insulated. With a lock.
So I can shout and play music and jump.
So I can cook something.
So I can finally have some privacy.
And you asked me if I’d like to change the lights on the ceiling.
No, it’s okay. Thanks, dad.

Dreams are warm. Bold as songs.
I miss you all the time. One day about thirty times.
I can’t help it.
I can’t forget how briskly you walked out the elevator.
Like a nervous little kid.
I can’t forget you opening the door for me.
Like gentlemen welcoming ladies.
I still remember how it changed everything.
Chocolate breathes from your lips.
Soft and brave.

I like the heavy door in your room.
Soundproof. Insulated. And locked.
So we cooked and ate and kissed.
And we watched movies.
And we really laughed about it.
And you asked if they’d know about this.
No, they won’t. They’ll never know.
Nothing comes in. Nothing comes out.

Except when the door stood between us.
Your gaze fixed on mine.
Black as the night forest. Sharp as the winter sky.
It could’ve lasted forever.
If music gave us time.
Minutes stretched into hours. Nights into days.
I swear I will make all the way back.
To the arms that have never pushed me away.

Here I am. Stay awake and write.
I often joke about something I feel sad about.
But I’m still adjusting. Luggage untouched for two weeks.
Only those words I mutter:
“Forest without trees."
“Heavy door between."


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