He felt like a small bag of Gushers,
partly opened, stepped on,
goo flowing from the sides
Some got stuck on your sole
You turned the knob
Although the door felt your knock,
it looked through you
and remained closed
when you ran down the steps,
rain pouring from your eyes
I promise you
that door still remembers
your touch
His body is folding
unto itself like an origami piece
because he is nervous
with hands under his thighs
He is fragile paper you opened,
but he turned out to be blank
and indecisive
When you get past
thinking that perhaps
there’s a chance
to write on him
something of your own,
the realization will come
that it was not writer’s block
but his own weightless words
wandering off the page
that kept him lost and empty
You’re scared he will
keep opening your heart,
ripping and mending it,
week in,
week out
