she asks me why i keep looking behind
closed doors
and i don't want to say but
i keep looking for something unbruised
or a distant feeling that's been renewed
or i don't know

a past memory. maybe an old life.

she asks me why i keep looking behind
closed doors
and i struggle to say that i miss the past.
that everything i lost was really all i had and
i miss it. i miss them.
i miss every time someone made me genuinely smile

i miss the times where people bothered to try.

she asks me why i keep looking behind
closed doors
when i know there's nothing of substance
and i don't want to say that
i find out a new disappointing fact every time
i peak behind that door,
an outstanding opportunity to break my heart,
an old smile that feels like happiness when i tend
to revisit,
and a part of me believes my care could revive it.

that's why i keep checking behind closed doors.

that's why ill beat the door down, until i can see right through it.

-behind closed doors

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