The door without you stood in it seems wrong somehow.
As if it had no other reason to open, to be a door, to exist at
all except to let you come in.
Staring at it, I can picture you there so easily;
struggling out of your long coat, trying to untie tangled
laces,
as I kiss you all the while and curse the impertinence of
your clothing,
stopping me from getting to you.
I blink and you are gone;
the door hazy too without the outline of you.
As a child I would lie in bed in the dark and sense the walls
stretching away
from me interminably into nothing.
Too big. I would squeeze my eyes tight shut and hide under
the covers.
I feel that way now as I look at the door. Your door. My
portal to you.
If only. My only.
That shockingly handsome face embarrassed at the
unpardonable adoration in my eyes.
You stay by the door a little too long and I soon realise
that it's not my portal to you, but your way to escape from
me.
-
Author:
rebmasters (
Offline) - Published: April 11th, 2021 06:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments1
somehow your narration style, reminds me of Proust's: 'In search of lost time'
maybe its in your inclusion of childhood memories or in your ability to analyse a single object for all the meaning it has to yield, or maybe its in that searching tone of yearnful remembering..
a good read, thanks for sharing
Ah thank you friend. An honour to be compared to Proust. Although I suspect it is merely juvenile naivety and a stubborn unwillingness to grow up
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