Like the switch button of a 90s television set, the echoes of a knock and a dead bolt’s lock pierces the static air of sharp breathing.
“Define stay, in your point of view, when you can’t even be here to explain its meaning directly to my face,” she pleads with glassy eyes on the verge of breaking down.
She silences a sob with the tearing of handwritten letters and the burning of old photographs. She won’t need them; she already has every word bound and every pixel branded onto her memory, as much as she tried to annihilate it all.
Behind the closed door, his eyes mirror hers. His tongue was dry, but careful enough to select the words that would quench their parched throats and hearts.
Will she open a new door? Will he face a new destiny? Are they even in the same corridor, the same floor, the same building?
They’ve been roaming separately, unsure of their directions if one is following the other’s path. Or are they just traveling in circles of pure coincidence?
He knocks again.
“Stay is when my hands or eyes are unable to hold you close, yet you know you’re home. Because of the way you are anchored to my voice when I say your name, or the way my heart keeps you with me.
Stay doesn’t always require physical presence.
I know you are already decided on staying whenever I enter your mind, whenever you think about me. And you know I can never leave your mind, much more your heart.”
She stays put where she is.
The only thing she leaves is the door—open—for him.
to, for, and inspired by wjh
you're always making me write the best words. i still hope you realize this one day. in the future i will leave, but my words will stay with you.