You said you’ll go, and I was fine.
After all, I knew that a year ago.
Yet, there were times
you changed your mind,
it created hopes of many kinds.
Not just in me.
I was the last one to believe.
Somehow, I am now relieved.
At least I know.
But then again, I don’t.
Why I’ve cried
in the shower,
at nights in my bed,
during my morning walks,
and daytime behind my desk
trying to express
in writing how I think and feel,
is not the future, dear.
It’s how it is. Now.
You’re not gone, but not here anymore.
The sword-sharp distance between us
even when we are close.
As close as we can be.
It’s feeling cold even when it’s warm.
It’s a grey scale from a colourful world.
It’s saying everything is fine, although it’s not.
Decision to be blind and deny the obvious.
It brought us close.
I created the space.
The space is still there.
What about your curiosity?
I know we’ll be staying polite.
Say things that are supportive, and nice.
Knock a few times on the door,
and then – just one time more.
The hopeful Yes? will be enough,
no courage left to push the door.
But will there ever be a moment,
where your let your curiosity to push down
the handle of the door between us,
and I step aside to let you in?
Standing still, in silence,
faces towards each-other,
frosted glass door between us.
You have the door handle.
With my heart aching,
I’ll be waiting
until you’re there.
After you’re gone,
I’ll pick another door.
With a door handle.
And instead of the door we left behind,
I’ll be thinking about the times
we walked through many doors,
rooms and routes.
Until you opened that last door
to let me in,
closed it behind me.
Leaving yourself out.
I will let you go.
For you and for myself.
No missed calls or stupid puns
in your Messenger or What’sApp.
No suggestions or rants of any kind,
or you asking Hey, what’s up?
In a few months time
your daytime will be my nights.
I will be fine.
Like I promised I will be.
What’s going on in between,
you might never find out.