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The Door

She’d been waiting for him longer than she’d care to admit. She’d been hoping that soon his flowery words about her beauty and uniqueness and maturity would materialize into action. She’d given him more grace than she thought she was capable of. She watched him choose other people, hoping his experiences would make him a better man for her. She prayed for him – for the man he was, and the one he was becoming. She’d been waiting.

Her heart was naive in its hopefulness. She should have known that if she wasn’t chosen at first, she wouldn’t be chosen at all. She was different from the other ones he had chosen. She thought that gave her a chance when, in reality, it was a flashing neon sign telling her to move on. She’d given him chance after chance, opened door after door, yet he still stood on the other side tiptoeing his way to the door and then retreating once more.

She thought she was too subtle; she thought she was too forceful. Yet regardless of the change in her heart and in her approach, not a single thing seemed to change with him. He still stood on the outside of the open door, either too fearful or too unwilling to come in. And she was worn out from trying to figure out which it was. For if he was too fearful, his cowardice was massively unappealing. And if he was too unwilling, her crushed heart could at least begin healing.

But the door can only remain open for so long. At some point she would have to begin protecting herself from the cold drafts and unwanted emotions that an open door made her vulnerable to. It would have to be a polite yet firm ending, refusing to make excuses anymore for his inconsistency. Because she needed him to make space for her in his world, and he had chosen not to. She needed him to walk the talk and be consistent, intentional, an initiator. But he wasn’t. So she shut the door, vowing that it would take bulldozers and hefty men to open it up again.

Yet there is another door that remains open on the other side of the house. One side of her is broken and closed off; the other side remains open and hopeful. There are men who walk right in and ask her to dinner, and to them she won’t be unfair by closing all doors.

He is the sum of many men she’s known. And she, she’s moving on.


About thehonestbrave

tending the space between where i am and where i want to be.

One response »

  1. hisbelovedwriter



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