door-walker

yes, prod at me with your toe. i remember. what is a door, anyway?  

old house, long-lost skeleton keys, now just sad beautifully framed holes in the wood. 

that one lock, it did work. i didn't even know what that meant.  

ten years later, different hands, different voice, répète encore.

you'd think for all those doors i open i'd understand the meaning of locks. 

it's exquisitely painful being conscious today. stabbing behind the eyebrows. lethargy of the limbs. slack-jawed staring past the cars driving past, brain lost in the tumbling past. i see in shades of grey and brown. not sure if it was worth the pancakes. they were so good, though.

i'm not ten. i'm not twelve. i'm not fourteen, fighting back. i am how old and this shouldn't happen. i shouldn't feel this. i shouldn't feel. you didn't. i shouldn't. 

can i get a do-over?

i could've been prepared. pushed your face out of the doorway. given a less flimsy excuse. 

i'm afraid of the sound of the click of the lock, not of me but you hearing it, painful rejection spasming through your insides. fifteen years later, still. still. i can't do it, i can't lock you out.