Grief

At first he knocks at the door

And waits for an invitation in.

He waits.

I ignore.

He knocks again.

I leave through the back door.

I go enjoy a day at the beach.

When I come home

He’s still waiting.

I make dinner.

I watch a movie.

He knocks again.

I look through the peephole.

My heart leaps.

I sit back down.

Ignore.

He knocks louder.

And louder.

I go upstairs.

I put my headphones in.

I ignore.

He knocks.

And knocks.

And knocks.

I hide under my blanket.

I sing a lullaby to myself.

He keeps knocking.

Louder and louder.

The door trembles.

It cracks.

It comes crashing down.

And he rushes in with the storm.

He finds me in an instant.

He grabs me.

He holds me.

Tight.

My limbs fall weak.

I succumb.

If only I had let him in sooner.

It would have been a graceful entry.

It wouldn’t feel so overwhelming.

Swarming.

It would have been a gentle exchange.

It would have been a bittersweet song.

But it wasn’t.

And it isn’t.

He’s here now.

And here I am.