Dumb Blue Door

The door closed behind me. Did I close it or did she? Doesn’t matter, the relationship was officially over. I left my key inside, I heard her turn the lock. There was no going back.

I told her once I leave you’ll never see me again, “I know” she said. Words cut like a knife. We hugged, I sobbed, she understood.

Standing on the other side of the door was lonely. The sun irritatingly greeted me outside, it was sure sunny for a gloomy day. Clouds loomed in the distance, maybe they were trying to tell me something. The objective was drive away, I had location, but no real direction.

I was fully packed. I was no longer welcome in the home I lived for 10 years. I started packing the previous week and that morning I finally filled the car with all my boxes, bags, and clothes. I remember making my last cup of coffee in my special coffee maker and then throwing the machine in the trash, not everything could come with. Luckily my small car was big enough to carry one broken heart, traffic would never see my bloody passenger riding shotgun.

I only had to take four steps to the car to leave our humble abode forever. My mind was littered with false hopes. I wished she would swing the door open and say “STOP! I’m Sorry! Please comeback!”. Thinking of fairy tales and movies, thinking of a perfect ending, thinking about touching her one more time. Sometimes hopes vanish into thin air, they blend into the fog and dance a good life blinding our vision.

I was outside and she was inside. The literal divide was a few feet apart, but I was about to begin a journey that was going to put miles between us. I didn’t want to walk to my car, I just wanted to open the dumb door and grab her hand. I didn’t have a support group nor a friend I could lean on, just bad feelings and sad memories to keep me company on those lonely nights. She told me it was my fault, I told myself a relationship takes two, but in the end I felt one sided when blind sided by her truth.

This stupid door. It doesn’t even open right, someone needs to reverse the hinges on this mug. The door opens towards the outside, that’s not how you greet people into a home. You know what, forget that door. It was always so awkward when someone knocked, I had to push it out and like peak around to say something while holding the handle, it was just crummy. I mean all we had to do was reverse the hinges (I don’t know how doors work). The door was painted an ugly blue, it didn’t match the rest of the house, it stuck out, no feng shui. I can’t believe I’m talking about doors. The door was dumb.

The previous day I ripped the Ring sensor off the wall. I paid for security service so it was my responsibility to dismantle it. I wish a thief would’ve stole that stupid blue door.

I wondered what she did on the other side of the door once it shut. Did she just rush back to work? Did she cry? Did she reach a hand out? Did she hug the dog? Once the door shut I had to act tough, I had to hit the road before rush hour, my mind was at least occupied on the goal ahead, but it hurt to finally make the journey.

I was never coming back. I left my key to the house on a table in the guest room lying on top of a poem I wrote. I assume she read it. It makes me cry every time I re-read it. I wonder what she thought of it? In the end she made it clear nothing was enough to keep us together.

The final nights when I sleeping in the guest room I would keep the door open in hopes of her coming in late at night wanting to cuddle or make amends. When doors to our relationship were metaphorically closing, I was physically opening doors yearning for a connection. Before there were times when we wouldn’t speak, I would shut down, the emotional doors to our feelings were cut off, we wouldn’t let each other in. But once we started arguing, the doors started opening. For me, it felt good, I felt closer, I felt more connected, but for her she was just letting out pent up frustration. She would let into me for minutes or hours at a time. She ripped me apart, my efforts to fight back were worthless, I couldn’t break down her armored doors. It was like she had placed herself in a vault with level ten security, I was no match. She didn’t care about the tears running down my face, she was willing to throw away everything to hurt me. She didn’t want me anymore, it was tough to accept.

Time apart wasn’t a solution neither. Maybe I go somewhere and then re-open this dumb blue door a couple weeks later. But these were just farfetched fables I spoke aloud to never come true. She made it clear, time apart wasn’t a solution.

She was only a few feet away, but that stupid door separated us. Even if she opened it, the door would have to swing out towards me. It would’ve probably hit me in the back anyways and I’d fall off the step, trip on a stone, and smash my face into the shiny front metal bumper of her Honda leaving a splash of red blood on her SUV to match the rose colored paint job. Pssh, I wish that happened, because maybe then she would’ve grabbed me, consoled me, bandaged the wound, ask if I was alright. Ahh, there I go, fantasizing again.

My key fob felt empty without the house key on the ring. If that dumb door could just vanish I’d be able to see her one last time. I forget who actually closed the door. Was it me leaving, or did I have a bag in my had, did she close it as I waved. Nevertheless, it was a mutual understanding that the door was closing on us.

Two people, both lost in the world. Two people, both with trust issues. Two people, both missing a screw in their head. Two mismatched people meeting at right time not knowing the wrong turns the relationship would take. Is it really better to have loved and lost?

I had closed that dumb door thousands of times before, but this was my last time. I hated that door, but it was the portal into her life. Every time I opened it before the dog would always bark at me. The dog was probably signaling to me that I wasn’t truly welcome in the home. Yet in the end, I was willing to do anything to make it work. Everyday I want to text her to re-open a door, but it would likely only re-open wounds that are trying heal.

The door closed and that was that. I took my first steps to start a new a life. I had a long road trip in front of me, I had a lot on my mind, I couldn’t process it all at the time, I knew I had to get going. I wish I knew how she felt once that door closed. Maybe she felt relieved, maybe she felt a bourdon had finally been lifted, maybe she felt free, maybe, maybe, maybe. Does she re-read the poem I wrote? Does it bring tears to her eyes like me? Did she save it or did she throw it away? Does she still think about me? Does she write terrible short stories about me that no one will read???