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There was a time when I would seemingly skip through the open door, ivy leaves catching on the curves of my golden ringlets.
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The last time I got comfortable on the other side, he welcomed me in with open arms only to kick me out onto the pavement a day later.
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Those few lively, endearing, laughter speckled weeks were some of the best I had experienced in a while. Naturally, I hoped he had felt the same but clearly sometimes our hopes don't line up with what happens.
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At this stage, I tremble in front of the amber wilting wood, scared that if I dare to enter, the hinges will fall off, the wood crushing each bone in my body.
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So for now, I seek reprise in the other, less accepted, door. The door that's unevenly sought after but equally attractive to me. From time to time I move my toes in and out of the original one~ commitment is a word that doesn't dare touch my tongue.
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This begs the question, will I ever surrender on solid ground again? Or will that amber oak collect dust, and eventually screech shut?
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