Behind The Door

As soon as I saw what was in your hand, I drew in my breath and hid behind the door. It was dark and humid, yet pleasantly fragrant in the room in which I turned the lock. It made an echo that seemed louder than the beating of my heart, and I stretched out upon the slate floor, my feet touching cool porcelain and my head pressing against a roughened wooden door. I laid in state for you, the days going by in darkness. Cushions rose up around me, cradling my form as I scratched at the bleeding scraped bumps that rose from the skin of my elbows. The little bits of rain that fell from the sky did little to comfort me as I waited. But, on a snow-crusted night, you appeared.


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