A loving man opened the door, though it was slammed in his face, and she stood at the threshold.
She said, “I want to see inside, but I can’t enter.”
She looked at another door and entered into another man’s home.
The loving man kept his door open and hoped.
She stopped by again. “His house isn’t as warm as yours.”
The loving man smiled and reached out, “Then come inside.”
“I can’t yet. Keep the door open a little longer.”
So he did, and she went back to the other man’s home.
She came back and said “I’m moving in with you.”
Giddy, the hopeful man rejoiced and prepared for his new guest, an old friend he loved dearly.
Then she came to his open door. But instead of entering, she said, “I’m moving in with him. Wait for me. Just a few months.”
She stopped by rarely, the hopeful man lost his hope, and the sorrowful man closed his door but a crack, praying she would just push the door open.
She staid on the other side, looking in, watching as he entertained guests. And she blamed him that she couldn’t come in.
Fantasy Writer and Cartographer
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"Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar" - E.B. White
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I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.