I saw you crying once.
Outside of the bedroom late at night.
We had washed up after a party and dragged in the same old, bitter fight.
Who was I to you? Why couldn’t you show?
So here we are:
You on the livingroom floor.
Me, peering through a crack in the bedroom I wished wasn’t ours. A hallway of mirrors fall between us and we cannot reach each other through our own reflection.
We would only see ourselves.
I heard your key press into the lock. It seemed a lifetime as the metal scaled and scraped the walls of the labyrinth for the end. A twist in the right direction and the cold clunk of the bolt as it breathed its release. Chills creep up my skin as you maneuver and manipulate our rugged old handle; too kinked from the cold this time of year. Chills. Wind sweeps in through the break of two worlds. My stare seems to lift you as my eyes drift from your soles to your soul. You smell the stiffness in the air and run to hold me. Do not leave, your body aches as it squeezes mine. Do not run away. But I stare at the key, stuck, but still swinging on the open door.
The sounds of shattered glass could not be heard on the floor, for our hearts were there no more. Constantly giving in to your will, our hearts began to shrill. They peeled away their skin to provide yours with protection. Like the girl I was before, I held out my arms and opened my door, welcoming her out of your protection – released of those convictions and restrictions. She is not yours anymore. She has a home where you are no more.
