Knowing

If you were a door, you would stand tall and pale. You would lead to a wondrous garden of triumph, laughter, beauty masking quiet suffering. Your roses would stand straight and bloom beneath the glowing sun, and they would not be guarded by vines nor thorns because you know no protection.

If you were a door, your knob would lack a lock, and any entrance could be made without the use of a key because you’re inviting; you want everyone to gaze upon your roses in full bloom, but how many roses will be plucked effortlessly from your garden before you learn to grow some god damn thorns?

I think maybe coming to this realization is just a threatening predecessor of what remains current:not everyone who enters will have good intentions with what is enclosed inside that bony chest of yours, beyond the door and the roses, the heart lain deep within your rib cages.

See, if you really were a door, you might see the action of someone physically using you as a gateway to steal your utmost valuable items within your own home, but you’re a person, and letting someone break your heart is just the same.