Darkness lurks in every corner,
He is trapped.
On his knees,
He covered his face,
Trembling like a leaf
-- as he prayed for God --
To save him from the demons
That tortures him.

{ e.i }

I arrive.
I knock on the door. It's jammed.
You're inside.
I wait outside as you try to open it, but your key's broken.
"It'll take a while," you say.
It's a beautiful day, so I wait outside. We talk through the wood, and you open a window so we can talk easier.
A cold wind starts to blow.
"It's cold," I say.
You pass me a jacket from inside, and I wear it. It's not so cold any more, and I'm alright. We keep talking, and you're figuring out a way to open the door.
I feel a drop on my nose. Oh my. Rain.
I ask if I can help. I can't. You take my bag through the window. I won't fit.
Maybe we can break the lock? Maybe we can break the door? Maybe a back door? No, none of those. Another drop on my cheek. Oh my. Rain.

The truth is, if you wanted to let me in you would. You'd figure it out and I'd be inside, warm, with you.
The truth is, it's raining. And I don't think I should be risking penumonia.
The truth is, you have my bag, and everything in it.
The truth is, if you don't let me in, I'll be forced to leave.

*And the truth is, I don't want to.