You sit there one summer afternoon sipping your coffee, flipping through the pages of your favourite magazine and then, suddenly there is a faint knock on the door.
A knock which sounds familiar somehow as if this knock has been resounding inside your house and your heart for a long time.
The knock which sounds like the perfect balance of perplexity and tranquility.
The question “who could it be?” enters your mind but you are well aware of who is behind the door.
You have been there. You have got up from your chair, opened your door and welcomed love in with your arms outstretched.
You have made yourself comfortable in his arms just to be left deserted in the lingering effects of his presence.
You have been naked with him. You did not just rip your clothes off, but every shred of your soul laid in front of him, for him to walk all over it.
You have spilled every secret, shown every scar, got him acquainted with every demon that resided in you, for him to use it as a leverage against you when the times got hard.
When the storm arrived, you tried to stop the levee from breaking single-handedly, with all that was in you but the storm pushed pass you.
You have tried making him your home, just to realize that people cannot be a home for other people, they’re merely a stop on the road to rest your eyes, not your heart.
You have tried turning him into the ink spilled on the pages of your diary, only to wash away the words you wrote, leaving you empty and blank just as before.
So, what happens when you hear the knock, but you already burned the door?
You walk towards the door, with flinching fingers turn the door knob and come face to face with the one who was standing behind the door but is right in front of you now.
There is no door in between to shield you from your utmost vulnerability.
You take a few steps back, nod and say “welcome back”.